THE 


THRESHOLD 


MARJORJE 

BENTON 

COOKE 


JOAN    BABCOCK 

"She  was  rewarded  for  her  efforts  to  do  them  proud. 
Gregory  looked  really  startled  and  Dick  became  incoherent." 


The  Threshold 


By  MARJORIE  BENTON  COOKE 


AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Girl  Who  Lived  in  the  Woods," 
"Cinderella  Jane,"  Etc. 


With  Frontispiece  in  Colors 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with   DOUBLEDAY,  PACE  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  19 IS,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


THE 
THRESHOLD 


THE  THRESHOLD 


CHAPTER  I 

JOAN  BABCOCK  felt  the  urge  of  the  Evangel. 
It  was  her  heritage,  perhaps,  from  a  visionary 
father;  it  was  most  certainly  the  outgrowth  of 
"that  state  of  life  to  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  call 
her."  There  are  spirits  conceived  and  born  in  revolt; 
such  was  her  spirit. 

As  she  turned  the  key  in  the  door  of  the  cottage, 
where  the  first  chapter  of  her  life  had  been  lived,  she 
turned  it  just  as  surely  on  that  past.  She  visualized 
swiftly  the  years  that  had  gone  before,  the  experiences 
and  emotions,  shut  up,  now,  in  that  empty  house  to  be 
left  behind. 

She  walked  quickly  down  the  sordid  street  of  the 
industrial  town,  with  a  sense  of  release.  She  went 
into  a  store  to  leave  the  key  for  the  agent  of  the  house. 

"Where  ye  going  now,  Joan?"  he  asked  her. 

"To  Chicago." 

"Coin'  to  get  a  job  there?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  hope  so,"  she  answered  evasively. 

"We'll  miss  ye  down  here." 

"Thanks,  Mike.     I'll  not  forget  my  friends  here." 

Her  real  farewells  had  been  said  the  night  before. 
She  was  glad  that  her  associates  were  all  busy  at  the 

3 


4  THE  THRESHOLD 

mills,  so  she  could  go  away  without  any  more  emotional 
strain.  As  she  stood  waiting  for  the  train,  she  looked 
once  more  at  the  great  foundries,  with  their  huge 
chimneys  piercing  the  haze  of  dirt  and  smoke  that 
eternally  surrounded  them.  The  mammoth  smelter 
burst  into  flames  every  few  moments,  like  a  volcanic 
eruption. 

"They're  like  altar  fires — the  altar  fires  of  Mammon, 
tended  by  the  sweating,  unthinking  slaves  of  the 
system!"  thought  Joan. 

Her  father  had  been  one  of  them,  her  mother  too. 
Both  had  been  sacrifices,  the  former  in  an  accident, 
when,  trying  to  save  a  fellow  workman  he  had  himself 
been  killed;  the  latter  through  the  death-dealing  strain 
of  monotonous,  unending  toil. 

Once  in  her  seat  in  the  train  Joan  gave  her  thoughts 
free  rein  to  hover  over  the  immediate  past.  Three 
days  before  she  had  laid  her  mother  away  in  the  rest 
she  had  so  sorely  needed.  She  could  not  feel  poignant 
grief  that  her  mother's  experience  here  had  ended. 
There  had  been  so  little  of  joy,  or  comfort  in  her  fifty 
years.  Hope  of  anything  different,  anything  better 
had  died  in  her  mother  years  before.  She  had  become 
a  dehumanized  thing,  an  automaton,  which  worked 
and  slept.  She  had  never  understood  her  husband's 
dreams,  she  blamed  them  for  all  his  failures.  No  won- 
der that  she  was  filled  with  bitterness,  when  the  man- 
tle of  dreamer  fell  upon  their  only  child. 

That  Joan  put  her  beliefs  into  action — that  where 
her  father  had  preached,  she  practised — this  was  the 
significant  fact  that  her  mother  failed  to  grasp.  So 
it  was,  that  Joan  had  closed  those  tired  eyes  with  only 
gentle  regret. 

She  sent  her  memory  back  to  the  days  of  her  child- 


THE  THRESHOLD  5 

hood  when  she  had  begun  to  understand  things,  to 
rebel.  When  she  knew  that  life  must  give  more  than 
it  gave  to  her  family — to  the  people  about  them — or 
it  was  not  worth  having.  She  knew  that  her  mother 
grumbled,  that  her  father  was  resigned;  that  he  read 
books  from  the  library  and  talked  about  democracy, 
that  he  urged  her  to  get  an  education,  and  then  to 
rouse  the  workers  of  America  to  a  realization  of  the 
country's  need.  She  loved  him  and  listened  to  him. 

At  the  time  when  all  the  children  of  the  town  were 
put  to  work  in  the  mills,  Joan  refused  to  go.  She 
found  a  job  in  a  store,  where  between  serving  customers, 
she  could  study.  When  she  was  fourteen  she  first 
heard  about  the  University  of  Chicago,  in  the  nearby 
city.  She  composed  a  letter  to  the  President,  telling 
him  her  ambitions,  admitting  her  lack  of  money 
and  urging  him  to  tell  her  how  she  might  earn  a  uni- 
versity education.  He  answered  with  a  discouraging 
list  of  requirements  for  entrance.  He  suggested  a 
correspondence  course  of  preparation,  in  case  she 
could  not  enter  a  regular  preparatory  school. 

She  took  his  advice,  and  three  years  of  unremitting 
labour  followed.  Work  at  night,  everything  sacrificed 
to  the  god  of  her  ambition,  and  then  one  day  she  said 
good-bye  to  Whiting,  to  her  astonished  mother  and 
went  to  Chicago  to  get  her  education.  By  extreme 
economy,  by  living  just  over  the  line  from  starvation, 
doing  outside  work,  she  managed  to  make  a  living  and 
keep  up  her  work.  She  studied  with  absolute  fervour. 
This  was  her  one  chance  to  raise  herself  above  the  level 
of  Whiting,  to  graduate  into  a  world  where  there  was 
colour  and  leisure  and  happiness.  She  seized  upon  it 
so  greedily  that  the  end  of  her  first  year  found  her 
almost  a  nervous  wreck.  But  she  had  caught  the 


6  THE  THRESHOLD 

attention  of  the  faculty  and  some  kindly  professor  in- 
vestigated her  way  of  living  and  put  a  stop  to  it. 
Clerical  work  in  one  of  the  faculty  offices  was  arranged 
for  her  and  this  gave  her  some  freedom.  She  was 
offered  an  opportunity  for  special  service  in  one  of  the 
halls  in  return  for  a  room  and  board  there,  so  her  second 
year  had  given  her  a  first  taste  of  real  living.  She  was 
comfortably  housed  and  nourished  as  to  her  body. 
Her  mind  was  fed.  A  new  need — a  desire  for  com- 
panionship— appeared  with  the  possession  of  some 
leisure.  Joan  looked  about,  for  the  first  time  really 
aware  of  her  fellow  students.  The  first  year  had  been 
such  a  hand-to-hand  fight  for  existence  and  her  chance, 
that  the  human  equation  was  lost  sight  of.  But  now 
she  began  to  look  into  what  you  might  call  the  social 
organization  of  the  University. 

Her  discoveries  did  not  surprise  her.  There  were,  as 
always,  the  privileged  few.  They  were  the  well  dressed, 
protected  children  of  parents  of  means.  They  had 
clubs  and  societies  and  common  social  interests.  Then 
there  were  all  the  rest,  many  of  them  self-supporting 
and  ardent  students  like  herself.  They  had  debating 
societies  and  public  forums  in  which  they  discussed  the 
questions  of  the  day.  They  had  no  time  for  after- 
noon teas  and  dances.  A  good  many  of  these  students, 
especially  among  the  girls,  were  envious  of  that  happy- 
go-lucky  set,  taking  its  opportunities  so  lightly.  Some 
of  them  were  bitter  at  their  exclusion.  But  Joan  was 
not  one  of  these.  If  Whiting  had  not  made  her  bitter, 
surely  this  play-world  of  the  campus  could  not.  She 
realized  that  it  was  important  to  keep  sweet.  She 
knew  that  she  was  not  to  be  a  part  of  the  world  in 
which  these  happy,  careless  students  were  to  live. 
She  knew  that  her  lot  was  to  be  thrown  in  with  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  7 

workers  of  the  world,  so  she  taught  herself  to  watch 
these  others  as  one  does  a  flock  of  butterflies  on  a 
summer's  day. 

There  was  one  set  she  liked  to  speculate  about.  In 
her  leisure  moments  she  built  romances  about  them. 
The  heroine  was  a  girl  who  lived  in  her  Hall.  Her 
name  was  Alice  Kent.  She  was  slight,  and  blond,  with 
a  tip-tilted  nose  and  wonderful  blue  eyes.  She  was 
the  "enfant  terrible"  of  the  dormitory,  always  up  to 
some  prank,  always  in  trouble  with  the  matron,  or  with 
her  professors.  She  had  beaux  by  the  score,  she  rarely 
set  foot  upon  the  campus,  unattended. 

The  most  important  scalp  Miss  Kent  exhibited  was 
that  of  a  peerless  male  being,  named  Philip  Morton. 
He  was  tall  and  thin,  with  wavy  brown  hair,  like  the 
man  on  the  magazine  covers.  He  affected  a  bored 
look,  aided  by  sleepy  eyes.  His  clothes  were  the  talk 
of  the  campus.  He  was  the  social  leader,  par  ex- 
cellence, of  his  set.  He  was  99  per  cent,  pure  hero, 
and  the  stuff  that  dreams  are  made  of. 

His  rival  in  devotion  to  Miss  Kent  was  the  great 
Buck  Porter,  captain  of  the  football  team,  a  sort  of 
campus  demi-god,  who  made  the  hearts  of  the  ladies 
flutter.  He  was  a  huge  handsome  creature. 

None  of  these  radiant  beings  ever  glanced  in  Joan's 
direction,  they  did  not  so  much  as  suspect  her  existence, 
but  a  continued  story  about  them  ran  through  Joan's 
dreams. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  her  senior  year  that  her 
mother's  sudden  death  had  called  her  home.  The  train 
was  bearing  her  back  to  college  for  her  last  few  months. 
Examinations  were  to  be  faced,  and  all  the  graduation 
ceremonies.  After  that — what?  She  had  no  relative 
left  her.  She  was  alone  and  free.  She  had  no  money 


8  THE  THRESHOLD 

— she  must  make  her  own  way,  even  if  she  married 
Edward.  The  prospect  of  work  did  not  terrify  her, — 
but  marriage? 

College  had  done  much  for  her  besides  train  her 
mind  and  store  it  with  facts.  It  had  given  her  a  chance 
to  test  her  powers  in  many  ways.  She  knew  that  she 
had  personality,  that  she  could  win  friends  easily.  She 
had  learned  to  value  the  fact  that  she  was  good  to 
look  at.  She  had  learned  how  to  dress  on  practically 
nothing,  and  perhaps  most  valuable  of  all,  the  Uni- 
versity had  opened  to  her  the  Book  of  Romance.  This 
last  year  had  brought  her  a  lover. 

He  was  an  earnest  young  man  in  the  Divinity  School, 
named  Edward  Crane.  It  was  perhaps  their  common 
purposefulness  which  had  attracted  them  to  each  other. 
He  was  to  devote  his  life  to  the  service  of  men's  soul's, 
Joan  was  to  devote  hers  to  the  service  of  their  bodies — 
in  so  much  as  the  improving  of  social  conditions  meant 
better  and  more  comfortable  living  for  the  workers. 

What  began  as  intellectual  fellowship  had  developed 
into  love  on  the  man's  part.  It  was  no  small  part  of 
the  many  problems  of  these  closing  days  at  the  Uni- 
versity that  Joan  had  to  search  her  heart  for  an  answer 
to  Crane's  love. 

She  distrusted  herself,  because  she  continually  post- 
poned her  decision.  How  much  of  her  response  to 
him  was  the  joy  of  her  first  companionship?  How 
much  of  it  was  hunger  for  romance,  for  human  affec- 
tion? How  much  of  it  was  due  to  spring  and  the  swift 
running  sap  of  youth,  with  its  primal  demands  ? 

If  she  married  Crane,  could  she  do  her  work  in  con- 
junction with  his — or  would  her  effort  always  be  inter- 
rupted by  changes  of  his  charges — be  indirect  because 
of  the  conditions  in  places  where  they  might  have  to 


THE  THRESHOLD  9 

live?  Was  she  prepared  to  give  up  her  work  entirely, 
and  merge  herself  in  his?  It  was  when  she  asked 
herself  this  direct  question,  that  herself  evaded  the 
answer. 

As  the  train  drew  into  the  station,  she  saw  Crane  on 
the  platform  waiting  for  her.  His  eager  eyes,  the 
marked  features  of  his  ascetic  face,  searched  each  car 
for  her.  His  figure,  slightly  bent,  leaned  against  a 
post,  his  shabby  clothes  flapping  in  the  wind.  Joan's 
heart  went  out  to  him,  with  a  rush  of  maternal  affec- 
tion. His  need  of  her  was  obvious.  When  he  saw 
her,  his  whole  face  lighted  and  he  hurried  to  her,  tak- 
ing her  bag  from  her — bending  to  her  with  his  whis- 
pered "Dear!" 

"How  good  of  you  to  come,  Edward,"  she  said. 

"Joan — it  broke  my  heart  that  you  would  not  let 
me  go  home  with  you,  on  this  sad  errand — be  of  some 
help  to  you — " 

"I  know — but  I  just  couldn't!  I  had  to  do  it  all 
alone,"  she  said  gravely,  "but  I'm  grateful." 

"Let's  go  over  to  the  lake  front — it's  dashing  up 
splendidly,"  he  suggested,  and  she  nodded  assent. 

They  swung  off  ajt  a  good  pace  and  into  the  wind. 
It  whipped  their  clothes  and  stung  their  faces.  Once 
on  the  esplanade  they  could  barely  move  ahead  and 
speech  was  impossible.  The  water  was  black — the  sky 
sullen;  great  mountainous  waves  pounded  in,  to  break 
across  their  very  feet.  They  fought  their  way  along 
the  whole  stretch,  and  then,  blown  but  triumphant,  they 
turned  off  into  the  park. 

"Oh,  that  was  wonderful!"  cried  Joan.  "It  makes 
you  feel  like  Atlas,  shouldering  the  world." 

"That's  a  trifle  too  heroic  for  me,"  smiled  Crane. 

"Not  for  me !     I  knew  every  step  along  that  walk., 


io  THE  THRESHOLD 

that  I  could  fight  anything,  be  anything,  conquer  any- 
thing that  life  sets  up  for  me  to  meet." 

She  stood  there,  her  clothes  wrapped  tight  about  her 
straight  boyish  figure,  her  face  flushed,  her  head  lifted, 
and  Edward  Crane  felt  her  vitality  as  one  would  an 
electric  shock. 

"Aren't  we  young  and  serious?"  laughed  the  girl. 
"I'll  conquer  nothing,  except  perhaps  my  own  spirit 
— but  I  know  I'll  be  a  fighter — till — I  die!" 

"Yes — I  believe  you  belong  to  the  conquerors  of  the 
world,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  that  is  why  you  fascinate 
me  so,  Joan.  I  only  want  to  till  God's  little  acre  some- 
where. How  can  I  ever  hope  to  make  you  content 
with  that?"  he  said  ruefully. 

"Maybe,  some  day,  I  might  be  content  to  do  that,  but 
not  now,  not  while  I'm  young  and  strong.  I'm  tired 
of  being  starved  for  the  things  I  want,  for  travel  and 
change  and  new  people.  I  hated  my  life  until  I  came 
to  the  University.  If  I  hadn't  made  up  my  mind  to 
come  here,  if  I  hadn't  defied  Whiting,  I  would  have 
been  an  operator  in  the  mills  today,  instead  of  a  col- 
lege graduate,  with  the  world  before  me.  I'm  never 
going  to  submit,  Edward,  not  to  anything!" 

"Not  even  to  the  will  of  God?" 

"Not  even  to  the  will  of  God." 

"Joan,  don't,  that's  blasphemous  1"  he  reproached 
her. 

"How  do  you  know  what  God's  will  is?  Suppose 
I  had  thought  it  was  God's  will  to  stay  on  in  the  fac- 
tories at  Whiting,  to  be  with  my  parents  and  do  as 
they  had  done?  But  I  didn't.  I  decided  that  God 
willed  me  to  get  an  education,  and  make  the  most  I 
could  of  my  powers,  to  help  the  people  back  there  in 
Whiting." 


THE  THRESHOLD  n 

"Surely  God  would  always  will  service." 

"But  I'm  not  setting  forth,  like  a  Christian  martyr, 
dedicated  to  service,  Edward,  for  the  sake  of  serving. 
I  want  to  help  the  workers  because  I  know  their  needs, 
but  I  intend  to  work  out  my  own  salvation,  in  the  proc- 
ess of  Bousing  them." 

"You're  going  out  to  fight  the  good  fight,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"It's  up  to  me  whether  it's  a  good  fight,  saith  the 
woman  unto  the  preacher,"  she  retorted  impudently. 
He  smiled,  even  while  he  deprecated  her  levity. 

"Joan,  Joan,  mine  is  the  case  of  the  ground  hog  that 
loved  the  singing  lark!"  he  sighed. 

"Lark?  I'm  no  lark — I'm  a  Cat-bird.  Caw, 
caw!"  She  mimicked  the  harsh  complaint  of  that 
most  pestiferous  bird,  and  Crane  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed. 

These  two  inconspicuous  units  in  the  student  mass 
were  tasting  their  first  romance,  and  it  was  sweet. 


CHAPTER  JI 

MISS  RUTH  EARL  sat  in  her  office,  dictating 
letters  to  a  secretary.  She  was  small  and 
slight  and  prim,  as  an  old-fashioned  flower 
is  prim.  Her  New  England  ancestors  had  registered 
their  mark  on  her  countenance  and  demeanour.  The 
members  of  her  staff  looked  up  to  her,  respected  her, 
were  a  trifle  in  awe  of  her.  The  patrons  cf  the  Pro- 
fessional Women's  Bureau  over  which  she  presided,  all 
relied  upon  her  intelligence  and  her  efficiency,  but  it 
would  have  been  an  unbearable  shock  to  any  of  these 
people  who  came  in  daily  contact  with  her,  to  learn  that 
Miss  Ruth  Earl  was  possessed  of  a  man's  size  sense  of 
humour.  Her  friends  discovered  that  back  of  what 
might  be  called  the  New  England  imprint,  was  a  warm 
heart,  a  quick  sympathy,  a  love  of  colour  and  fun. 

Mr.  Gregory  Farwell  was  announced.  With  a  nod, 
Miss  Earl  dismissed  the  stenographer,  and  looked  up 
at  the  tall,  rather  imposing  man  who  came  into  the 
office. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Farwell,"  said  the  head  of  the 
Bureau. 

"Good  morning,  madam,"  announced  the  gentleman 
with  a  bow.  He  seated  himself  with  a  courtliness  of 
manner,  holding  his  hat  and  cane. 

"I  understand  that  you  supply  professional  and  edu- 
cated women  for  every  demand — " 

"Well,  we  try  to,"  smiled  Miss  Earl. 

"Then  I  should  like  to  explain  my  situation  to  you," 

12 


THE  THRESHOLD  13 

he  began,  and  Miss  Earl  drew  a  note  book  toward  her, 
and  bowed  gravely. 

"I  am  a  bachelor.  My  home  is  in  Farwell.  I  am 
the  owner  of  mills  and  factories  in  the  town,  which 
necessitate  my  making  my  home  near  by." 

"Yes?" 

"My  house  is  rather  large.  My  family  consists,  or 
has  consisted  up  to  the  present  time  of  my  nephew,  a 
lad  of  seventeen,  Miss  Arethusa  Jenks,  an  elderly 
cousin,  who  acted  as  head  of  the  establishment,  and 
myself." 

"I  see—" 

"I  regret  to  say  that  Miss  Jenks  has  passed  on — " 

"Yes — so  you  want,"  began  Miss  Earl,  but  the 
gentleman  was  not  to  be  interrupted. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  give  you  quite  a  detailed 
account  at  this  meeting,  I  think  it  will  save  us  both 
time  in  the  end,"  he  remarked. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Miss  Earl. 

"Miss  Jenks  had  been  of  great  service  to  us,  had 
devoted  her  best  efforts  to  us,  and  I  wish  to  do  her 
complete  justice.  But  she  was  a  woman  of  more  than 
middle  age,  and  naturally  her  view  of  life  seemed  some- 
what archaic  to  my  nephew,  who  is  seventeen.  He 
urges  me  to  find  some  one  who  is  up  to  date,  and  not  too 
old,  to  take  the  place  of  Miss  Arethusa." 

"Very  natural,  I'm  sure,"  murmured  Ruth  Earl, 
visioning  "Miss  Arethusa." 

"Natural,  possibly,  but  full  of  dangers.  I  feel  that 
it  is  a  very  important  step,  this  choosing  of  a  woman 
who  will  be  able  to  influence  my  nephew.  She  must  be 
very  intelligent,  as  well  as  tactful." 

"Is  she  the  housekeeper?" 

"Oh  no — there  is  a  housekeeper  under  her." 


14  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Just  what  are  her  duties?" 

"Her  duties  are  to  be  agreeable  and  create  a  home 
atmosphere." 

Miss  Earl  choked  back  a  laugh  and  gravely  wrote 
it  out  on  a  card. 

"She  is  hostess  of  my  house,  in  other  words.  Now 
that  my  nephew  is  growing  up,  I  think  we  should  enter- 
tain rather  frequently." 

"You  want  a  young  woman,  as  I  understand  it. 
Must  she  be  a  widow — or — well — a  matron?"  in- 
quired Miss  Earl. 

"I  think  it  would  be  safer." 

"May  I  ask  what  are  the  dangers?  You  have  used 
the  word  'safe'  twice." 

"Well,  my  nephew  is  at  the  impressionable  stage.  I 
should  not  want  him  to  fall  in  love  with  this  woman — " 

"You  want  her  plain,  then?"  queried  Miss  Earl,  un- 
smiling. 

"No — I  should  say  not— not  too  plain.  That  was 
one  of  his  complaints  about  poor  Miss  Arethusa.  He 
said  that  you  could  not  respect  the  opinions  of  any- 
body with  apple-teeth  like  Miss  Arethusa's !" 

It  was  too  much  for  Miss  Earl,  she  laughed  aloud 
and  Mr.  Farwell  looked  surprised,  then  joined  her. 

"I  suppose  this  is  rather  an  unusual  demand — " 

"We're  used  to  unusual  demands,  but  this  is  a  little 
— special.  The  requirements  are  rather  more  social 
than  practical." 

"That's  it  exactly.  You  can  see  yourself  that  it  is 
important  that  we  find  the  right  woman,  on  my 
nephew's  account.  Not  flirtatious,  nor  flighty — no 
fortune  hunters." 

"We  never  register  them,"  said  Miss  Earl  gravely. 

"Dick  would  like  her  to  have  an  interest  in  sports." 


THE  THRESHOLD  15 

Miss  Earl  nodded.  "I'd  like  her  to  be  an  agreeable 
companion  to  me,  when  Dick  is  away,  or  at  school. 
I'm  at  home  a  great  deal — and  I  do  not  find  many 
friends  in  Farwell — which  is  an  industrial  town." 

"And  your  requirements  in  an  agreeable  companion 
are—?" 

Mr.  Farwell  glanced  at  her,  but  nothing  could  be 
more  business-like  than  her  expression. 

"Education  first — I  prefer  a  college  woman,  with 
nice  tastes  running  toward  books,  and  the  fine  arts. 
Pleasant  voice  and  agreeable  manners.  Mentally,  I 
should  prefer  her  reactionary;  I  find  radical  women 
very  upsetting — " 

Miss  Earl  laid  down  her  pencil  and  lifted  a  quizzical 
smile  to  the  serious  gentleman. 

"Mr.  Farwell,  we  cannot  find  this  woman  for  you !" 

"Why  not?" 

"She  doesn't  exist — " 

"Oh — but  I'm  not  unreasonable — " 

"Let  me  read  you  my  notes:  'Personality  require- 
ment— must  be  agreeable — well  mannered — pleasant 
voice — normal  teeth.  Neither  plain  nor  too  good 
looking — a  widow,  preferred.  Not  flirtatious,  but  in- 
teresting to  a  boy  of  seventeen.  Practical  require- 
ments— Knowledge  of  how  to  run  house,  direct  servants 
— create  home  atmosphere;  interested  in  sports. 
Mental  requirements — College  education — taste  for 
books — fine  arts — conservative  opinions.' ' 

She  looked  at  him  hopefully  but  he  only  said,  "Is  it 
too  much  to  ask?  I'll  pay  anything  necessary." 

"My  opinion  is  that  conservative  ladies  with  a  taste 
for  fine  arts  do  not  go  in  for  sports." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  women.  I  suppose  that  is 
so.  Well — the  boy  is  the  important  thing.  Suppose 


1 6  THE  THRESHOLD 

we  leave  me  out  of  it  entirely.  Let's  find  a  nice,  cheer- 
ful motherly  woman,  whom  he  will  like — " 

"With  a  taste  for  sports,"  added  Miss  Earl. 

"Leave  out  the  sports — he  can't  have  everything. 
Would  that  make  it  easier?" 

"Not  much.  My  advice  would  be,  Mr.  Farwell,  to 
find  this  woman  among  your  own  acquaintances.  You 
see,  we  register  women  equipped  to  do  certain  definite 
things — now  your  demand  is  so  indefinite — " 

"I  want  a  woman  to  make  two  men  comfortable  and 
happy — is  that  indefinite?" 

"No — but  women  who  like  that  kind  of  employ- 
ment usually  find  it  in  marriage — they  do  not  come  to 
us." 

"I  see.  But  if  I  took  one  without  a  college  degree, 
and  with  no  special  training — ?" 

"But  it  takes  special  training  to  run  your  house,  Mr. 
Farwell.  I  can  supply  you  with  any  number  of  trained 
house  managers,  but  I  cannot  guarantee  the  social  re- 
quirements— " 

"Wouldn't  some  of  these — house  managers  have 
social  grace,  just  by  accident?" 

"I'm  afraid  not." 

"Then  you  cannot  help  me?" 

"I'm  so  sorry.  If  any  one  comes  in,  who  remotely 
suggests  the  qualities  you  want,  I'll  gladly  put  you  in 
touch  with  her,  but  it's  only  fair  to  warn  you  that  it 
is  very  improbable  that  any  such  person  will  come  in. 
At  least,  you'll  only  get  some  of  the  things  you  want." 

"I  would  try  to  be  reasonable,  Miss  Earl,  I  assure 
you.  I  should  be  greatly  indebted  to  you,  if  you  would 
keep  my  needs  in  mind." 

"I'll  do  my  best.  You  want  this — this  woman  right 
away?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  17 

"Yes — we  are  in  great  need  of  her  at  once." 
"All  right.  I'll  let  you  know.  Good  morning." 
"Thank  you  very  much.  Good  morning." 
He  left  her  and  Miss  Earl  sat  for  several  seconds 
staring  at  the  card  in  her  hand,  before  she  laughed  and 
wrote  "Paragon  wanted"  across  its  top.  She  went  to 
the  filing  cabinet  and  began  to  run  over  the  registra- 
tion cards,  glancing  only  at  the  confidential  line  added 
by  the  person  who  had  interviewed  the  candidate. 
They  ran,  "Very  plain — no  personality."  "Pretty; — 
silly  manner."  "Well  informed — serious  manner  and 
awful  voice.  .  .  ."  So  on,  indefinitely,  Miss  Earl 
chuckled  as  she  read.  She  wished  the  handsome  gentle- 
man with  the  grand  manner  could  have  glanced  at  these 
confidential  reports.  It  might  have  helped  him  to  un- 
derstand that  charm  and  personality  are  not  the  quali- 
ties offered  for  sale,  by  women  in  professions,  in  these 
practical  days  of  1917. 

Miss  Earl's  well  ordered  thoughts  suddenly  began  to 
dance  away  impishly,  out  of  the  regular  channels  pre- 
scribed by  the  duties  of  the  Bureau.  These  thoughts, 
from  nine  to  six  were  of  the  most  docile  and  busi- 
ness-like character,  having  to  do  with  efficiency,  capa- 
bility, adaptability,  and  such  tiresome  essentials.  They 
were  used  to  bromidic  conversations  after  this  fash- 
ion: 

"Miss  Earl,  I  am  in  need  of  a  secretary,  with  a  col- 
lege education  and  some  experience,  for  about  sixteen 
dollars  a  week." 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Smith.  I  think  I  have  just  the 
woman  you  want,"  etc.,  etc. 

Something  about  the  distinguished  Mr.  Farwell  and 
his  ridiculous  demand  set  her  thoughts  rollicking  off, 
as  if  a  busy  Friday  morning  were  a  holiday.  Why  was 


1 8  THE  THRESHOLD 

it  an  unheard  of  demand  to  make  of  a  professional 
woman  that  she  be  charming? 

What  was  the  matter  with  our  education,  with  our 
professional  training,  that  it  laid  no  emphasis  upon  the 
social  graces,  nay,  that  such  training  always  discour- 
aged and  under  valued  them.  There  was  a  tacit  un- 
derstanding that  sex  charm  on  the  part  of  a  self-sup- 
porting woman  was  unnecessary  and  out  of  place.  It 
might  mislead  an  employer!  Inconspicuous  personal- 
ities to  correspond  with  inconspicuous  business  clothes, 
these  were  prescribed  for  all  working  women. 

Miss  Earl  wished  that  every  applicant  of  the  Bureau 
had  to  take  a  special  course  in  charm  I  But  no,  she 
would  have  to  find  the  teachers,  and  where? 

In  her  college  days  the  girls  were  not  all  just  alike. 
They  seemed  very  individual  as  she  remembered  them. 
Was  it  just  that  they  were  young?  Why  was  it  that 
when  women  presented  themselves,  in  this  office,  take 
them  by  and  large,  they  were  all  alike?  Cut  out  of 
the  same  cloth,  sewed  up  in  the  same  seams.  They 
were  all  so  eminently  respectable  and  nice.  There 
were  days  when  she  did  wish  somebody  would  come  in 
in  a  bright  red  hat  or  a  royal  purple  coat !  Of  course, 
there  were  silly  ones  but  they  weren't  delightfully  silly, 
they  were  only  silly  silly. 

Now  what  sort  of  a  woman  would  it  have  to  be  to 
please  these  two  men?  She  wished  she  could  qualify 
herself!  She  would  leave  the  old  Bureau  without  a 
thought,  to  "create  a  home  atmosphere"  at  Farwell 
Hall,  as  the  gentleman's  country  place  was  called,  she 
noted  from  his  card. 

She  began  to  imagine  the  right  woman.  She  made 
her  tall,  gracious  and  beautiful.  About  thirty-three,  a 
sweeping  creature,  who  would  awe  the  boy  a  trifle,  yet 


THE  THRESHOLD  19 

fascinate  him.  She  must  be  unusual  in  mind,  and  of 
distinguished  tastes  to  qualify  as  companion  for  the 
exacting  Mr.  Farwell.  No  such  person  had  ever 
visited  the  Bureau,  but  Miss  Earle  saw  her,  with  her 
mind's  eye,  very  clearly. 

Miss  Earl  thought  over  the  army  of  rather  drab 
candidates  which  filed  in  and  out  of  the  offices  every 
day.  It  would  be  enlightening  to  this  nai'f  gentleman, 
if  she  sent  some  of  them  down  to  Farwell  to  interview 
him.  She  put  his  card  in  with  the  F's,  in  the  employers' 
drawer,  and  went  back  to  her  desk,  ringing  for  her  sec- 
retary. The  interview  had  amused  her  greatly,  but 
unless  a  miracle  happened,  she  could  not  serve  Mr. 
Gregory  Farwell  any  further.  Of  course,  she  was  not 
prepared  to  doubt  the  possibility  of  the  miracle,  because 
they  happened  almost  daily  in  that  office. 

"Miss  Burke,  do  you  know  any  applicant  who  could 
be  agreeable  and  create  a  home  atmosphere?" 

"\Vhy  no,  Miss  Earl,"  replied  the  girl,  as  startled  as 
if  Miss  Earl  had  demanded  a  blossoming  rod. 

"Strange,  the  requests  people  do  make  of  us!"  com- 
mented Miss  Earl,  smiling.  "Take  this  letter, 
please." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  Campus  of  the  University  was  spread  witk 
a  new  green  carpet,  and  dotted  with  bright- 
coloured  human  flora.  The  white  flannels  of 
the  men  and  the  multi-coloured  gowns  and  parasols  of 
the  girls  gave  it  a  lovely  festive  air.  They  strolled  in 
pairs — they  sat  in  groups.  Laughter  was  everywhere 
and  happy  faces.  The  spirit  of  it  was  infectious. 
Joan  came  across  from  the  Hall  where  she  lived,  cross- 
ing toward  Haskell.  She  felt  like  dancing.  She  was 
going  toward  the  high  moment  of  her  four  years'  work. 
She  had  been  chosen  Ivy  Orator  of  her  class,  and  she 
was  on  her  way  to  the  exercises. 

She  wore  a  new  white  dress  for  the  occasion,  her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  by  the  glances  that  followed 
her,  the  cordial  nods  that  greeted  her,  she  knew  she 
looked  her  pretty  best. 

Edward  Crane  caught  up  with  her.  He,  too,  wore 
new  clothes  to  celebrate  the  occasion  and  his  cap  and 
gown  became  him. 

"Hello  1"  said  Joan  gaily. 

"You're  the  prettiest  girl  on  the  campus,"  he  said 
enthusiastically. 

"This  frock  meant  many  'doing  withouts,'  but  it's 
worth  it,"  she  boasted. 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  congratulate  you  on  what 
happened  last  night,"  he  continued. 

"Oh,  Edward — wasn't  it  wonderful?"  she  cried,  lift- 
ing her  glowing  face.  "I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my 

20 


THE  THRESHOLD  21 

life  as  I  was  when  they  chose  me  to  go  to  that  conven- 
tion." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  surprised — " 

"But  think  of  the  people  who  are  dying  to  go  to 
New  York—" 

"Weren't  you?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  but  I  am  not  specially  fitted  to  be 
sent — do  you  think  I  am?" 

"I  think  you've  worked  hard  in  this  Y.  W.  C.  A.  work 
here — I  know  you're  the  best  speaker  they've  got — 
why  shouldn't  you  go?" 

"Well — I  am  going — thanks  be  1  Expenses  paid, 
and  a  chance  to  see  the  world!  Oh,  Edward — life  is 
very  good!" 

"My  dear — my  dear!"  he  said  tenderly,  and  she 
looked  away  quickly  to  avoid  his  eyes.  "See  them 
floating  across  to  this  quadrangle.  Aren't  they 
pretty?"  she  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  strolling  groups 
approaching  them. 

"Yes — and  they  are  all  coming  to  listen  to  you, 
Joan.  Do  you  know  how  proud  I  am?" 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  gratefully.  It  was  big  of 
him  to  take  such  pleasure  in  her  triumphs  for  no 
honours  had  come  to  him,  although  he  was  being  gradu- 
ated. 

"Good  luck,  dearest,"  he  whispered,  as  the  Master 
of  Ceremonies  came  forward  to  meet  Joan. 

"Who  is  that  peach?"  a  tall  young  man  said  to  the 
girl  with  him,  as  Joan  took  her  place. 

"Her  name  is  Joan  Babcock.  She's  been  around  for 
four  years,  but  nobody  knows  her.  Fearful  grind,  they 
say.  Phi  Beta  Kappa  and  all  that.  She  is  pretty, 
isn't  she?" 

Edward  Crane  could  scarcely  control  his  impulse 


22  THE  THRESHOLD 

to  arraign  them.  Careless  poetasters  in  the  world  of 
learning,  yet  they  dared  classify  his  Joan,  with  her 
courage  and  her  dreams!  He  turned  away  and 
changed  his  seat.  The  whole  quadrangle  was  filled 
now  with  colour,  talk  and  laughter.  The  sun  slanted 
across  the  beautiful  grey  buildings  that  flanked  the 
square — the  sky  above  was  blue  and  cloudless — the  June 
air  soft  and  warm.  Youth  and  spring  and  beauty,  and 
above  it  all,  Joan,  in  her  white  dress.  It  was  a  picture 
that  etched  full  on  Edward  Crane's  memory. 

Joan  as  she  looked  across  the  crowd  felt  the  quick 
tears  come  to  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  what  it  would 
have  meant  to  her  father  to  see  her  here  and  now» 
Then  her  young  joy  in  the  colour  and  excitement  of  itr 
took  possession  of  her.  The  world  was  a  wonderful 
place,  even  as  she  had  said  to  Crane — Dear  old  Ed- 
ward ! — She  had  to  decide  about  him  so  soon  now.  .  .  . 
How  many  girls  out  there  were  facing  the  same  de- 
cisions? Nearly  every  student  carries  a  Major  in 
Love  in  the  Spring  Quarter.  How  jolly  they  were! 
How  beautiful!  What  were  they  going  to  bring  to 
this  old  world,  into  which  they  were  graduating?  A 
vision  of  all  the  campuses,  of  all  the  colleges  and  uni- 
versities of  the  country  filled  with  just  such  eager, 
happy  throngs  as  this,  came  into  Joan's  mind.  An 
army  of  recruits,  equipped  for  service.  What  enemies 
would  they  conquer,  what  new  flags  would  they  raise? 
How  far  would  they  push  and  prod  the  world  forward? 
It  was  with  a  prayer  on  her  lips  for  the  true  service  of 
great  causes,  that  Joan  faced  her  classmates,  when  her 
name  was  called. 

There  is  no  need  to  weary  you  with  her  oration.  It 
was  young  and  ardent  and  idealistic.  Just  such  words 
were  being  said,  no  doubt,  on  all  the  campuses  of  her 


THE  THRESHOLD  23 

vision.  Perhaps  because  she  had  already  come  to 
grips  with  life,  as  few  of  her  hearers  had,  Joan  spoke 
with  authority  about  the  seriousness  of  what  she  called 
"The  Crusades"  they  were  to  enter.  She  begged  them 
not  to  let  their  four  years  of  preparation  go  for  naught. 
Out  of  thousands  who  longed  for  the  opportunity,  they 
had  been  privileged  to  realize  what  education  meant. 
Their  very  advantage  laid  upon  them  the  duty  of  serv- 
ice to  their  fellows.  However  jejune  the  address  may 
have  been,  it  roused  her  listeners.  The  passion  with 
which  the  girl  spoke  held  their  attention  completely. 
There  was  a  shiver  of  terror,  then  a  thrill  of  power,  in 
response  to  the  big  duties  to  which  she  called  them. 
When,  in  the  name  of  her  class,  she  bent  to  plant  the 
ivy,  that  class  burst  into  a  shout  of  applause  and  appre- 
ciation. It  felt  that  it  had  outdone  itself,  in  Joan's 
expression  of  its  high  ideals.  She  turned  a  misty  smile 
upon  them,  in  answer  to  their  applause.  It  was  a  great 
and  solemn  moment  to  her. 

After  the  exercises  she  was  surrounded  by  enthusi- 
astic listeners.  Members  of  her  class  who  had  never 
known  of  her  existence  before,  crowded  up  to  offer 
homage.  It  was  buzzed  about  that  she  was  being  sent 
to  New  York  as  the  representative  of  the  students  to 
the  National  Convention  of  the  Y.  W.  C.  A.  Con- 
gratulations poured  in,  with  good  wishes  and  compli- 
ments. Joan  had  never  felt  so  young  and  happy  in 
her  life. 

Edward  watched  her  from  afar,  with  an  ache  in  his 
heart.  Were  success  and  honours  carrying  her  away 
from  him?  She  met  all  these  aliens  with  poise  and 
ease.  He  knew  that  they  would  embarrass  him.  Had 
he  the  right  to  carry  her  off  to  begin  with  him,  in  some 
obscure  village — even  if  she  would  come? 


24  THE  THRESHOLD 

The  crowd  drifted  on,  leaving  the  college  hero,  the 
Captain  of  the  Football  Team  and  the  social  leader  of 
the  college  world  with  Joan.  She  beckoned  to  Crane 
and  he  reluctantly  joined  them.  She  introduced  the 
three  men,  and  they  drifted  to  a  near-by  bench  and  all 
sat  down,  the  Social  Leader,  Philip  Morton,  extended 
on  the  grass  at  Joan's  feet. 

"By  Jove,  how  have  you  escaped  me?"  he  remarked 
with  a  glowing  look. 

"By  never  being  near  where  you  are !"  she  laughed. 

"But  where  have  you  kept  yourself?" 

"Hidden  in  classrooms  and  libraries,"  she  replied. 
"No  wonder  you  never  saw  me." 

"Oh,  come  now,  I  go  to  class  every  once  in  a 
while — "  he  defended. 

"But  you  take  all  the  snaps,  so  of  course,  we  don't 
meet!" 

"Ouch !"  said  Philip,  the  adored,  joining  in  the  laugh 
of  the  other  two  men. 

"I've  been  a  fan  of  yours  for  a  long  time,  but  I 
didn't  know  you  could  talk  like  that,"  said  Captain 
Buck  Porter. 

"One  could  scarcely  be  in  the  University  and  not 
know  you  !"  Joan  answered,  smiling  up  at  him. 

Edward  felt  the  first  tinge  of  jealousy  he  had  known. 
He  rose  and  excused  himself. 

"Shall  I  see  you  tonight?"  he  inquired. 

"I'll  be  at  home,"  she  began. 

"At  home — tonight?  Indeed  you'll  not!  Why, 
this  is  the  night  of  the  Senior  Ball!"  cried  Philip. 

"But  I'm  not  going." 

"Not  going — you !     Is  she  going  to  that  ball,  Buck  ?" 

"She  is,"  replied  the  giant. 

"But  I  haven't  any  partner,  nor  any  clothes — " 


THE  THRESHOLD  25 

"Wear  what  you've  got  on — we'll  fix  the  partners 
—eh,  Buck?" 

"Us  will!" 

"Oh— but  I  can't—" 

"Oh — but  you  can — you  must!"  cried  Philip. 

"I'll  excuse  you,"  said  Edward,  coldly. 

"Oh,  no— I—" 

"The  matter  is  settled — the  discussion  closed,"  re- 
marked the  social  arbiter. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Crane,  and  left  them. 

"Oh,  Edward!"  she  said,  impulsively,  sensing  his 
hurt. 

"Who  is  old  Sour  Ball?"  asked  Buck. 

"He's  a  great  friend  of  mine,"  she  defended. 

"Beg  pardon — withdraw  the  remark,"  jibed  Buck. 

"Buck,  you  may  have  from  now  till  six  P.  M.  to  fill 
half  of  Miss  Babcock's  program.  I'll  take  it  after 
that.  Neither  of  us  to  take  more  than  three  dances 
for  ourselves.  Is  that  all  right,  Miss  Babcock?" 

"I  suppose  so.  I'm  just  like  Cinderella,  going  to  my 
first  ball.  Do  you  really  think  I  ought  to  go?" 

He  sat  up  and  marked  time  for  a  bar  of  introduction, 
then  he  and  Buck  sang  out,  in  unison,  "We  do  I  We 
do!  We  do!" 

Joan  laughed. 

"I'd  love  it,"  she  cried. 

"The  pumpkin  coach  will  arrive  at  nine  P.  M.  with 
me  and  my  girl — also  a  bloke  named  Donald  Trask — 
he's  the  lucky  dog  who  draws  you.  He's  home  from 
Yale  on  a  forced  vacation,"  he  added.  "Be  off,  my 
son,"  to  Buck. 

The  big  man  took  his  departure. 

So  it  was  that  Joan  went  to  the  ball.  Once  launched 
on  the  primrose  path  she  found  nothing  but  kindness. 


26  THE  THRESHOLD 

The  romantic  Miss  Kent,  who  dwelt  in  the  hall  where 
she  lived,  came  to  her  room,  after  dinner,  with  the 
offer  of  a  ball  gown  "and  trimmings,"  as  she  said.  It 
was  so  sweetly  offered  that  Joan  accepted  without  a 
qualm. 

"Come  to  my  room  and  try  on — We're  going  to- 
gether, you  know — I'm  Phil's  girl." 

It  was  exciting  to  try  on  pretty  clothes  and  be  told 
how  lovely  you  were !  It  was  more  exciting  to  de- 
scend to  the  hall,  where  the  two  resplendent  ones 
awaited  them.  Was  there  ever  such  fun  as  Mr.  Don- 
ald Trask's  chaffing  and  ardent  flirtation?  A  full 
program — good  music,  fine  floor,  admiration  to  her 
heart's  content.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  Joan  floated 
about  as  happy  as  a  cloud. 

"I've  just  come  to  a  decision,"  remarked  Mr.  Trask, 
at  the  close  of  a  dance. 

"Yes?" 

"I've  decided  to  marry  you!" 

"Am  I  to  be  consulted?" 

"You  are  not." 

"Well — that  relieves  me  of  any  responsibility,"  she 
laughed. 

So  they  played  and  joked  and  danced  the  night 
through.  Joan  felt  that  she  was  just  like  the  rest  of 
them — she  could  give  them  as  good  as  they  gave — 
she  could  play  their  game.  She  went  home  in  the  grey 
morning,  tirecl  and  happy. 

The  next  scene  that  was  enacted  was  the  graduation. 
The  big  hall  packed  with  people,  the  front  rooms  filled 
with  the  candidates  for  degrees,  in  caps  and  gowns.  It 
was  all  ceremonious  and  rather  solemn.  The  address 
made  Joan  choke — it  called  her  back  so  surely  from 
the  dreams  of  the  night  before.  She  must  not  go 


THE  THRESHOLD  27 

astray.  She  was  a  worker — not  a  butterfly.  But  oh, 
— the  sweetness  of  that  memory! 

She  caught  Edward's  absorbed  face  across  the  crowd. 
Tomorrow  she  was  to  start  on  her  new  adventuring  to 
New  York.  Today  she  must  settle  with  Edward. 
Her  turn  came  and  she  marched  up  and  received  her 
sheepskin.  Then  they  were  all  filing  out  into  the  sun- 
shine again.  She  had  a  few  gay  words  with  some  new 
friends,  but  she  waited  for  Edward.  He  came  slowly, 
and  when  he  realized  that  she  was  waiting,  the  look  in 
his  face  hurt  her. 

"Let's  get  rid  of  our  caps  and  gowns  and  go  over  by 
the  lake,"  she  said. 

"All  right.  I'll  come  by  for  you  in  ten  minutes," 
he  answered. 

The  walk  to  the  park  was  rather  silent — only  casual 
remarks  came  to  their  lips.  But  once  out  on  a  deserted 
pier,  with  only  the  great  shining  lake  as  companion, 
Edward  looked  up  at  Joan,  who  sat  above  him  gazing 
out  over  the  water,  and  for  a  second  he  laid  his  fore- 
head against  her  knee. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  understand.  I  love  you 
with  all  my  heart,  as  you  must  know — but  I'm  not  so 
blind  that  I  cannot  see  that  you  do  not  care  that  much 
for  me.  Our  companionship  has  meant  everything  to 
me.  I  shall  always  be  your  debtor — " 

"Edward — don't.  It  has  been  that  way  with  me, 
too,"  she  interrupted  him. 

"Not  quite.  I  want  you  to  start  out  with  the  whole 
world  to  choose  from — I  want  you  to  be  free.  I'm  not 
big  enough  for  you — " 

"Please — "  she  begged — her  hand  on  his  hair. 

"Don't  let  us  make  this  last  hour  a  sad  one.  I  want 
it  to  remember  always.  It's  settled  now.  If  ever  you 


28  THE  THRESHOLD 

should  want  me — I'll  be  there.  .  .  .  Now  let's  look  at 
the  sunset  and  be  happy." 

So  they  sat  until  its  glory  faded  in  the  twilight  sky. 
In  her  heart  Joan  knew  that  he  had  spared  her — that 
he  had  risen  to  his  biggest  self,  to  make  her  going  on, 
happy.  She  was  tenderly  grateful  to  him.  She  tried 
to  tell  him  how  much  he  had  taught  her — how  much  his 
love  had  brought  into  her  life.  So  they  said  good-bye 
— there  on  the  shore  of  the  lake. 

The  next  day  a  second  chapter  in  Joan's  life  was 
closed  and  she  turned  her  face  to  the  great  shining  East, 
to  the  City  of  Adventure. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MISS  EARL  looked  up  from  the  letter  she  was 
reading  and  laughed. 
"That  poor  Mr.  Farwell,"  she  said  to  her 
assistant,  "he  is  reduced  to  such  a  state  of  humility.     In 
every  letter  he  shears  off  a  few  more  requirements." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  was  the  matter  with  that 
Mrs.  Blake  we  sent  out  there.  A  very  competent  wo- 
man, to  my  mind." 

"Competent  was  not  one  of  his  demands,"  smiled 
Miss  Earl.  "He  says  his  nephew  threatened  to  leave 
home,  if  she  came." 

"A  wife  is  what  that  man  needs!" 

"Then  he  would  have  to  put  up  with  her,  teeth  and 
all!"  nodded  Miss  Earl. 

The  assistant  glanced  at  her  quickly.  Her  chief  did 
say  puzzling  things.  What  had  teeth  to  do  with  the 
case? 

"We'll  never  fill  it,"  she  said  conclusively. 

The  telephone  buzzed  and  Miss  Joan  Babcock  was 
announced. 

"According  to  the  haphazard  ways  of  the  gods,  this 
ought  to  be  the  girl,"  she  remarked,  as  the  assistant 
rose  to  go. 

The  door  opened  and  Joan  came  in,  hesitating  a  sec- 
ond at  the  threshold  to  measure  the  situation  and  the 
woman  she  was  to  meet. 

They  took  swift  inventory  of  each  other.  Miss 
Earl  saw  what  she  later  described  as  "a  thrilling  per- 

29 


30  THE  THRESHOLD 

son."  New  York  had  done  something  for  Joan. 
Whiting  would  never  have  known  her.  This  adventur- 
ing in  the  metropolis  had  keyed  her  up  to  a  high  pitch. 
The  dazzle  had  gone  to  her  head.  She  had  walked  on 
air  every  minute  since  her  arrival.  Her  whole  per- 
sonality responded — she  exuded  vitality  and  enthusi- 
asm. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Babcock — " 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  the  girl,  advancing  with  her 
hand  out,  in  frank  interest. 

Miss  Earl  took  it  and  felt  a  shock.  She  indicated  a 
chair  and  Joan  sat  down. 

"What  a  pleasant,  sunny  place!"  she  remarked,  look- 
ing about  her,  and  at  the  flowers  on  Miss  Earl's  desk. 

"Yes — I  like  this  room — " 

"I  like  everything  in  New  York!"  exclaimed  the  girl. 
"It's  a  thrilling  place.  I  want  to  live  here — work  here, 
right  in  the  midst  of  things.  Doesn't  New  York  excite 
you,  Miss  Earl?" 

"It  is  stimulating,"  the  head  of  the  bureau  admitted. 

"I  want  to  get  a  job  and  stay  forever!" 

"What  kind  of  a  job?"  smiled  Miss  Earl. 

"I'll  take  what  I  can  get,  to  begin  with.  I  want  to 
make  a  living  while  I  look  around  and  get  my  bearings. 
I  feel  a  little — well — drunk  is  the  word,  I  think.  Do 
you  understand?"  she  asked  seriously  and  Miss  Earl 
nodded  just  as  if  it  was  an  every-day  occurrence  for 
applicants  to  announce  that  they  were  drunk  with  liv- 
ing. 

"Tell  me  about  your  training,  and  what  you  want 
to  do." 

Miss  Earl  was  enjoying  herself  and  Joan  felt  her 
understanding.  She  told  her  the  whole  story,  Whiting, 
the  University  and  all,  briefly,  but  vividly. 


THE  THRESHOLD  31 

"I  want  to  do  something  for  the  people  who  work 
with  their  hands — the  ones  who  haven't  had  a  chance 
for  education.  I  want  to  teach  the  women  of  the 
poor  how  to  keep  their  houses,  food  values — system  in 
spending  the  family  income — I  don't  know  just  what  I 
can  do  yet,  but  that's  what  I'm  trained  for.  I  want 
them  to  use  my  education.  Is  that  all  pretty  vague?'* 

"No — I  get  your  idea,  but  it  may  be  a  trifle  difficult 
to  find  just  what  you  want.  You  specialized  in  social 
science,  and  took  some  courses  in  domestic  science. 
Have  you  any  money  to  fall  back  on  for  the  present?" 

"Not  a  sou !  I've  got  to  get  something  right  away 
— because  expenses  stop  with  this  convention  and  the 
money  for  my  ticket  back  to  Chicago  has  to  be  returned 
to  the  University  Chapter.  So — I'm  awfully  on  your 
hands." 

Miss  Earl  considered  for  a  moment. 

"There  is  an  opening  in  one  of  the  Women's  col- 
leges for  a  woman  to  run  and  manage  the  commons 
where  the  students  eat.  Would  that  interest  you  ?" 

"As  I  tell  you,  I'm  prepared  to  be  humble,  but  I  am 
so  tired  of  the  college  atmosphere.  I  have  had  four 
years  of  nothing  else,  and  I  would  like  to  put  my  nose 
into  something  new." 

Miss  Earl  went  to  the  filing  cabinet  and  came  back 
with  a  drawer  of  cards,  which  she  began  to  run  over 
carefully  and  deftly. 

"House  mother  in  an  orphanage?  No,  I'm  afraid 
you  are  too  young  for  that." 

"I  think  I  could  be  quite  a  popular  mother,"  Joan 
said  earnestly,  at  which  Miss  Earl  smiled.  The  head 
of  the  Bureau  was  thinking  to  herself,  "I  wish  I  could 
engage  her  to  sit  in  this  office  by  the  week !  She  makes 
me  feel  so  young  and  confident!" 


32  THE  THRESHOLD 

The  cards  piled  higher  and  higher,  face  down  and 
even. 

"Can't  I  be  any  of  those  things?" 

"Don't  be  discouraged,  there  are  several  other  draw- 
ers," replied  Miss  Earl. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  right  straight  to  some  fac- 
tory town  and  study  my  own  job,  but  I  just  would  like 
to  have  a  little  fling.  Does  that  sound  silly  to  you?" 

Miss  Earl  shook  her  head,  her  grave  eyes  lifted  to 
the  girl's  shining  face. 

"You  see  I've  always  worked  so  hard.  First  I  had 
to  give  every  minute,  every  thought  to  getting  in  the 
University.  I  worked  in  that  store  all  day  and  studied 
until  midnight  or  later.  Then  I  had  not  been  as  well 
prepared  as  the  others,  so  I  had  to  bone  extra  hard  to 
keep  up  with  my  classes.  Beside  that,  I  was  earning 
every  cent  I  had — 

"How  did  you  earn  money?" 

"I  waited  on  table,  and  washed  dishes  in  a  cheap 
student  boarding  house  for  my  food.  I  slept  in  a  kind 
of  a  closet  for  which  I  paid  a  dollar  a  month.  Then  I 
helped  the  janitress  clean  the  gym,  and  I  sang  in  the 
choir.  My  second  year  I  did  clerical  work  in  the 
Dean's  office.  Oh,  I  managed,  but  it  wasn't  much 
fun." 

Miss  Earl  nodded  thoughtfully. 

"You  see,  that's  why  it  is  so  wonderful  here.  Every- 
body is  so  leisurely  and  comfortable  and  happy.  You 
feel  as  if  you  could  do  anything — be  president  of  a 
bank,  or  something!  That's  a  fine  way  for  an  assist- 
ant janitress  to  feel!"  she  ended  with  a  laugh. 

"Pity  there  isn't  a  single  demand  for  a  bank  presi- 
dent," smiled  Miss  Earl. 

"You  must  think  I'm  a  crazy  sort  of  creature,  taking 


THE  THRESHOLD  33 

up  your  time  with  all  this  nonsense  about  myself.  Do 
many  women  come  in  and  talk  such  foolishness?" 

"I  get  a  good  deal  of  foolishness,  but  painfully  little 
nonsense,"  replied  Miss  Earl  with  a  nice  sense  of  dis- 
tinction. 

Joan's  appreciation  flashed  back  in  a  quick — "Oh, 
you  are  nice!" 

Miss  Earl's  fingers  paused  on  a  card.  A  queer  ex- 
pression crossed  her  face.  She  looked  at  the  girl  be- 
fore her  in  a  puzzled  way.  Young,  vibrant,  modern. 
Beside  her  stood  Miss  Earl's  vision,  tall,  mature,  ele- 
gant. Nothing  could  be  farther  apart  than  these  two 
women,  and  yet,  how  interesting  it  would  be  to  play  dea 
ex  machina  to  two  such  individuals  as  Gregory  Farwell 
and  Joan  Babcock. 

"You  are  wondering  if  I  would  do  for  a  certain 
sort  of  position,  and  you  are  about  to  decide  that  I 
would  not,"  Joan  remarked. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  that  mind  reading  was  one  of 
your  accomplishments." 

"I  think  I  am  adaptable.  I  could  turn  my  hand  to 
anything,  if  it  interested  me.  Did  I  tell  you  that  ?" 

"I  have  on  file  a  most  unusual  demand.  It  is  not 
related  to  any  of  these  positions  we  have  spoken  about, 
and  I  think  you  have  n®  real  preparation  for  the  tech- 
nical part  of  it.  Besides,  it  would  take  you  out  of  New 
York  city,  into  a  small  industrial  town  nearby —  No, 
I  think  you  would  better  not  consider  it." 

"Industrial  town?  Tell  me  about  it.  I'm  game  for 
anything." 

Miss  Earl  produced  the  card  of  Mr.  Farwell's  re- 
quirements and  read  them  over  slowly  and  precisely. 
Joan's  laughter  flooded  the  room  like  sunlight — it  rose 
and  fell  in  infectious  floods  and  Miss  Earl  joined  in. 


34  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Isn't  it  funny?  It's  so — so  man!"  Joan  said 
finally. 

"He  thought  he  was  being  so  reasonable,"  Miss  Earl 
assured  her.  "He  has  written  again  and  again.  As 
you  say — he's  awfully  on  my  hands." 

"But  I  would  adore  to  try  itl  It  sounds  like  a  plot 
for  a  comedy.  But  I'd  never  do — I  couldn't  run  a 
house  to  suit  that  man.  I'd  probably  organize  the 
servants  into  a  union — I  haven't  a  leaning  towards 
literature  and  the  fine  arts — the  only  thing  I  could  do 
would  be  to  play  with  the  boy." 

"Of  course  you  aren't  a  widow  and  you're  not  as 
plain  as  I'd  like  you  to  be — "  began  Miss  Earl.  "But 
you  have  had  a  course  in  domestic  science."  Joan  was 
off  again  with  her  upsetting  mirth.  "Will  you  see  him 
and  talk  to  him?" 

"Gladly — only  won't  it  be  a  waste  of  your  time?" 

"Not  if  you  have  the  meeting  here  in  my  office,"  re- 
sponded Miss  Earl,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"Done!"  cried  Joan.     "When  shall  it  be?" 

"I'll  wire  him  to  come  at  eleven  tomorrow.  Shall 
I?" 

"I'll  be  here.  I'm  to  tell  him  the  truth  about  my 
shortcomings?" 

"Don't  boast  about  them.  If  he  asks  you — tell  the 
truth,"  counselled  the  descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
Puritans. 

Joan  laughed,  shook  hands  and  swung  out  the  door, 
whereupon  Miss  Earl  sighed  deeply,  as  if  suddenly  let 
down.  She  dictated  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Farwell  and 
tried  to  take  her  mind  off  of  this  most  interesting 
case. 

Promptly  at  eleven,  the  next  day,  Mr.  Farwell  was 


THE  THRESHOLD  35 

announced.  He  was  followed  by  a  very  handsome 
blond  boy. 

"My  nephew,  Dick — Dick  Norton,  Miss  Earl.  He 
insisted  upon  coming  with  me — " 

Dick  blushed  and  bowed. 

"I  have  to  live  with  her,  too,  you  know.  I  got 
awfully  fed  up  on  Miss  Arethusa,"  he  remarked. 

"Will  you  sit  down,"  began  Ruth.  "I  do  hope  I 
haven't  brought  you  in  on  a  false  alarm,  but  your  last 
letter  was  so  urgent — " 

"Our  need  is  great,  Miss  Earl.  The  house  is  de- 
moralized— needs  a  mistress." 

"This  young  woman  I  have  asked  you  to  meet  has 
only  a  few  of  the  qualities  that  you  indicated  in  our  first 
interview — " 

"I've  come  to  see,  by  the  ones  you  have  sent  us,  that 
I  cannot  hope  for  those — those — " 

"Is  she  old?"  asked  the  boy. 

"No — that's  one  trouble — " 

"Is  she  plain?"  he  went  on. 

"Not  as  plain  as  she  might  be — " 

"That's  all  right.  The  others  you  sent  us  were 
blighters,"  he  remarked. 

Miss  Earl  restrained  a  smile  and  addressed  herself 
to  Mr.  Farwell. 

"Miss  Babcock  is  a  college  graduate  of  keen  intelli- 
gence. She  is  not  experienced  in  managing  a  house 
but  has  had  some  training  in  domestic  science  and  I  have 
a  feeling  that  she  can  do  anything  she  sets  her  mind 
upon  doing.  You  spoke  of  creating  an  atmosphere — 
She  can  certainly  do  that — " 

The  telephone  buzzed  and  she  asked  the  office  to 
send  Miss  Babcock  in.  The  two  men  watched  the 


36  THE  THRESHOLD 

door  with  interest  as  intent  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  as  to  what  type  of  female  entered  there. 

Joan  stood  a  second,  sweeping  them  with  a  grave 
glance — then  she  advanced  as  they  both  rose. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Babcock.  May  I  present  Mr. 
Farwell  to  you  and  his  nephew,  Mr.  Richard  Norton?" 

The  two  men  bowed  and  they  all  seated  themselves 
in  solemn  silence. 

"I  have  been  explaining  to  Mr.  Farwell  that  while 
you  have  not  all  the  qualifications  he  hoped  to  find,  that 
I  thought  you  might  answer  his  needs,"  began  Miss 
Earl  professionally. 

Mr.  Farwell  was  at  a  loss.  He  was  unprepared  for 
Joan — she  took  his  breath  a  little. 

"Do  you  go  in  for  sports?"  asked  Dick,  breaking  the 
ice  for  all  of  them. 

"Rather,"  laughed  Joan. 

"Would  you — could  you — Miss  Earl  has  explained 
to  you  that  we  live  in  the  country,  as  you  might  say?" 
Mr.  Farwell  stammered. 

"Yes.  She  let  me  see  the  card  with  your  require- 
ments on  it.  It  might  expedite  matters  if  I  said  that  I 
don't  answer  any  of  them.  But  I'm  of  average  intelli- 
gence, so  I  might  learn  to  keep  the  housekeeper  in 
order." 

Dick  burst  into  a  guffaw. 

"In  order?  You  ought  to  see  her — old  Craddock's 
first  name  is  order!" 

"Quiet,  Dick — don't  interrupt  Miss  Babcock — " 

"There's  no  use  my  bluffing  about  it.  I  want  a  job 
most  awfully.  I've  got  a  good  disposition,  and  some 
sense.  If  sprightly  conversation  at  the  table  is  neces- 
sary, I  could  qualify  there.  But  unless  you  happen  to 
like  me,  I  couldn't  be  a  bit  of  use  to  you." 


THE  THRESHOLD  37 

"Take  her,  Uncle  Greg — I  vote  for  her." 

"  I  hadn't  expected  quite  so — young  a  woman — "  be- 
gan Mr.  Farwell.  "It  isn't  very  gay  in  Farwell,  I'm 
afraid." 

"Oh — I  amuse  myself,"  said  Joan. 

"We  might  perhaps  try  the  experiment  for  a  month 
— the  arrangement  to  be  terminated  on  the  close  of  that 
period,  by  mutual  consent?" 

"All  right." 

"The  salary  would  be — ?" 

"One  hundred  dollars  a  month,"  said  Miss  Earl 
quietly. 

"Perfectly  satisfactory.  Could  you  come  at  once, 
Miss  Babcock?" 

"Yes." 

"Come  on  the  2.10  with  us,  will  you?"  asked  Dick. 

"Ye-es,  I  can  even  do  that,"  agreed  Joan. 

"Excellent.  If  you  will  meet  us,  then,  at  the  station 
at  2  o'clock,  we  will  all  go  out  together"  said  Mr. 
Farwell,  rising.  "We  are  greatly  indebted  to  you, 
Miss  Earl,"  he  added. 

"Not  at  all — I  hope  the  arrangement  will  work  out 
nicely." 

"Oh — one  thing!"  exclaimed  Joan — "I  forgot  to  say 
about  my  opinions — they're  not  a  bit  reactionary." 

"H-m!"  said  Mr.  Farwell. 

"Hang  her  opinions !  Uncle  Greg,  why  can't  we 
take  her  to  lunch?"  demanded  Dick. 

They  all  laughed — even  Mr.  Farwell.  The  two 
men  withdrew  and  Joan  faced  Ruth  Earl  with  laughing 
eyes. 

"Bless  you  forever!  I'm  off  on  this  wonderful  ad- 
venture. Wasn't  it  a  ripping  prologue?"  she  cried  and 
hurried  off  to  pack. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  first  incident  in  Joan's  new  situation  was 
that  she  missed  the  train.  The  street  car  was 
held  up  by  a  blockade  and  although  she  got  off 
and  ran  the  rest  of  the  way,  the  clock  pointed  relent- 
lessly to  2.23  as  she  dashed  into  the  station.  The 
information  clerk  told  her  the  next  train  left  at  4.30. 
She  went  over  to  the  telegraph  station  and  sent  a  wire 
to  Mr.  Farwell,  telling  him  the  time  of  her  arrival, 
then  she  telephoned  Miss  Earl. 

"What  will  you  think  of  me?  I've  missed  the 
train!" 

"That's  too  bad !  When  is  the  next  one  ?"  came  the 
calm  voice. 

Joan  explained  the  situation  and  reported  on  what 
she  had  done  to  remedy  things. 

"That's  all  right.  Take  the  4.30  and  let  me  hear 
how  things  go." 

"Rather.  I'm  glad  you  aren't  too  disgusted  with 
me." 

She  heard  Miss  Earl  chuckle. 

"Good  luck,"  was  all  the  head  of  the  Bureau  said  as 
she  hung  up  the  receiver. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Farwell  had  dragged  the  re- 
luctant Dick  on  to  the  2.10  train.  The  youngster  was 
determined  to  wait  for  the  4.30. 

"She's  probably  missed  the  train — "  began  his  uncle. 

"She's  probably  changed  her  mind!"  interrupted  the 

38 


THE  THRESHOLD  39 

boy.  "Why  would  a  peach  like  that  want  to  live  with 
an  old  codger  like  you  and  a  young  cub  like  me?  I 
knew  she  was  too  good  to  happen !" 

"Dick,  you  must  not  let  your  enthusiasm  run  away 
with  you.  Miss  Babcock  is  no  doubt  a  very  nice  young 
woman,  but  she  comes  into  our  house  in  a  business 
capacity — as  you  might  say." 

"I  don't  care  what  capacity  she  conies  in,  if  she'll 
only  come." 

"I  think  you  should  not  refer  to  her  as  a  'peach.'  ' 

Dick  laughed  and  the  subject  was  closed.  When 
they  arrived  at  the  house,  Mr.  Farwell  ordered  the 
car  to  meet  the  4.30  train.  But  when  Joan  descended 
at  the  station,  it  never  occurred  to  her  to  see  if  any  one 
were  there  to  meet  her.  She  hurried  off  to  find  a  man 
to  take  charge  of  her  little  old  steamer  trunk.  The 
village  expressman  agreed  to  deliver  it  at  once  and 
he  obligingly  gave  Joan  the  directions  she  asked  for. 

"Jump  up  on  the  seat  with  me,  if  ye  want  to  ride  up," 
said  the  man.  "It's  a  fair  long  walk." 

"All  right,  thanks,"  Joan  replied  and  "jumped  up." 

It  took  some  little  time  for  the  leisurely  villager  to 
get  the  trunk  onto  the  wagon  and  himself  onto  the  seat 
beside  Joan,  but  it  was  eventually  accomplished.  The 
old  horse  clattered  off  and  they  bumped  through  an 
ugly  industrial  town  of  the  well  established  American 
pattern.  The  buildings  all  had  a  cheap,  temporary 
look.  The  streets  were  badly  kept.  Out  at  the  edge 
of  the  town  proper,  the  factories  clustered,  and  about 
them  the  cottages  of  the  workers.  They  were  old  and 
in  poor  condition,  Joan  noted.  There  were  no  signs  of 
an  intelligent  overseer,  or  of  modern  methods. 

"Who  owns  these  factories?"  she  inquired. 

"I  dunno's  I  can  jest  say.     Mr.  Farwell  is  the  head 


40  THE  THRESHOLD 

of  'em,  they  say,  but  they  go  to  Mister  Dick  when  he's 
of  age." 

"Mr.  Farwell?  The  Mr.  Farwell  where  I'm 
going?"  demanded  Joan. 

"Yep.  He  inherited  'em  from  his  folks.  Ye  see, 
the  town  was  named  fer  'em." 

"But  does  he  let  the  town  look  like  this — all  run 
down  and  shabby?" 

The  man  stared. 

"I  guess  he  ain't  much  interested  in  how  the  town 
looks.  He  don't  live  in  it.  He  hardly  ever  goes 
through  it,  jest  dashes  to  the  station  in  his  autymobeel." 

"But  he  ought  to  look  at  it!"  exclaimed  Joan. 

"Mcbbc  so." 

"Are  the  people  in  the  works  satisfied?" 

"Not's  I  know." 

"Why  don't  they  demand  something  else?" 

"Ain't  ben  no  trouble  fer  a  long  time.  Last  time, 
the  Company  went  to  Noo  York  and  come  back  with  a 
hundred  or  so  men,  an'  shut  out  the  kickers,  so  they 
didn't  do  no  good — jest  lost  their  jobs." 

Joan  made  no  reply.  They  were  outside  of  the 
town  now,  in  fresh,  green  country,  with  its  early  sum- 
mer freshness.  The  road  was  fine — the  driver  ex- 
plained that  the  Farwells  had  the  road  built  for  their 
motor  cars,  and  that  they  kept  it  in  order,  without  ex- 
pense to  the  county.  Rolling  hills  and  woods  were  on 
each  side — a  country  of  gentle,  soothing  quality.  The 
ugly  little  town  back  there  was  like  a  sore  on  the  earth's 
beautiful  breast. 

"This  is  the  beginning  of  the  Farwell  place,"  the 
old  man  remarked.  "Got  about  five  hundred  acres  in 
all.  Deers  and  wild  things  in  some  of  it." 

They  began  to  wind  through  a  park.     Trees,  hun- 


THE  THRESHOLD  41 

dreds  of  years  old;  pools,  lily  lined,  hedges  and  gardens 
passed  by  them,  and  then  at  last  the  house  appeared, 
atop  of  a  high  knoll.  It  was  Colonial  and  wide- 
winged.  There  were  terraces  before  it,  with  great 
plateaux  of  gardens. 

"So  that's  it,"  said  Joan  breathlessly.  And  then  to 
the  old  man's  astonishment,  she  began  to  laugh. 

"What's  the  joke?" 

But  before  she  could  answer,  Dick  on  a  horse, 
plunged  out  of  a  side  path  and  at  sight  of  her,  lifted  a 
shout — 

"Miss  Babcock!  For  Heaven's  sake,  didn't  Jer- 
gens  meet  you?" 

"Nobody  met  me — I  didn't  need  to  be  met — I  found 
a  friend  here  who  brought  me  out — " 

"Hello,  Jake"  grinned  Dick.  "Running  a  pas- 
senger bus  now,  are  you?" 

The  driver  nodded  and  chuckled. 

"I  thought  you'd  given  us  the  slip,"  cried  the  boy. 

"No — I  merely  lost  the  train — "  she  smiled. 

"We  sent  the  motor  after  you — " 

"I  didn't  even  look  for  it.  I  never  thought  of  it — I 
liked  this  better  anyhow.  Mr.  Jake  told  me  about  the 
town  and  all — " 

"Lots  to  tell  about  that  old  clutter  of  huts,"  laughed 
the  boy. 

But  Joan  couldn't  bring  herself  to  smile. 

"Mebbe  you  could  'light  here,  Miss,  because  I  ain't 
allowed  to  go  up  to  the  front  door — " 

"Yes,  you  are,  this  time,  Jake.     Come  on." 

The  boy  walked  his  horse  beside  them,  bending  to 
point  out  spots  of  interest  to  Joan.  It  was  this  queer 
cavalcade  that  greeted  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Farwell,  as  he 
stepped  out  on  the  terrace — Joan  up  beside  Jake,  the 


42  THE  THRESHOLD 

old  horse  coming  slowly,  snatching  at  grass  or  bushes  in 
the  hope  of  a  bite,  the  boy  bareheaded  and  handsome, 
riding  beside  her.  As  they  came  up  to  the  porte  co- 
ch&re,  he  went  to  meet  them. 

"My  dear  Miss  Babcock!"  he  protested,  "what  a 
way  to  welcome  you  to  Farwelll  Didn't  Jergens  find 
you?" 

"It  was  my  fault,  Mr.  Farwell — I  didn't  look  for 
him.  I  didn't  know  whether  you  had  reached  here  or 
not.  It  was  so  stupid  of  me  to  have  missed  the  train." 

He  helped  her  to  alight,  nodding  to  Jake. 

"I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  the  girl  said  to  the 
driver,  offering  him  a  bill. 

"That's  all  right,  we  have  a  bill  with  Jake,"  the 
boy  objected. 

"I  prefer  to  settle  my  own,  thanks,"  replied  Joan. 

Jake  touched  his  hat  brim  and  rattled  off. 

"Mrs.  Craddock  will  take  you  to  your  room,  Miss 
Babcock.  I  am  having  tea  out  here  on  the  terrace. 
Won't  you  join  us,  in  fifteen  minutes  or  so?" 

"Thank  you." 

Mrs.  Craddock  appeared,  a  set,  elderly  woman. 
Joan  felt  her  antagonism,  as  Mr.  Farwell  performed 
an  introduction.  She  followed  her  into  the  great  open 
hall,  and  up  the  wide  stairway  to  a  suite  of  rooms  at 
the  end  of  the  second  floor  hall. 

"These  are  the  rooms  Mr.  Farwell  ordered  for  you, 
Miss  Babcock,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"Thank  you.  These  will  do  very  nicely,"  said  Joan, 
judiciously,  on  an  impulse. 

"Miss  Arethusa  was  on  the  upper  floor,"  Mrs.  Crad- 
dock remarked  meaningly. 

"Ah?"  responded  Joan.  "I  prefer  this  floor. 
Thank  you,  Mrs.  Craddock." 


THE  THRESHOLD  43 

Mrs.  Craddock  withdrew  and  Joan  closed  the  door. 
Then  she  flew  about  upon  a  tour  of  inspection.  The 
room  she  was  in  was  evidently  a  sitting-room.  A 
writing  desk — well  filled  book-cases — an  open  fireplace 
— flowers  everywhere.  Beyond,  a  delightful  bedroom, 
looking  out  over  gardens  and  into  trees.  A  heavy,  de- 
licious perfume  that  comes  with  early  evening,  floated 
up  to  her.  Here  were  wicker  and  chintz  and  all  the 
luxurious  appurtenances  so  dear  to  every  woman's 
heart.  Out  of  this  room  opened  her  bathroom,  per- 
fect in  its  appointments. 

Joan  drew  a  deep  breath  of  enjoyment,  and  went  to 
the  mirror  and  leaned  toward  herself. 

"Joan  Babcock!"  she  exclaimed,  as  if  in  surprised 
recognition.  Then  she  laughed.  She  was  excited. 
She  had  never  even  dreamed  of  such  a  fairyland  as  she 
found  herself  in. 

She  suddenly  remembered  the  tea.  She  took  off  her 
coat  and  tossed  her  hat  on  the  bed.  It  disclosed  a 
cropped  curly  head,  like  a  Greek  boy's.  She  ran  a 
comb  through  it — dashed  some  water  on  her  face — 
brushed  her  skirt  and  hurried  down  to  the  terrace. 
She  delivered  a  shock  to  the  two  men  who  waited  for 
her  there.  Naturally  they  had  not  seen  her  without  her 
hat.  As  this  slim  boyish  figure  came  swiftly  across  the 
terrace  toward  them,  they  each  smothered  an  exclama- 
tion— Mr.  Farwell  of  consternation,  Dick  of  delight. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting,"  she  began 
gaily —  "What's  the  matter?" 

"You — I  beg  your  pardon — you  look  so  different 
without  your  hat,"  apologized  her  host. 

"Oh — it's  my  hair.  You  see,  I  wear  it  this  way  be- 
cause it's  so  easy.  I  can  duck  it  into  a  bowl  of  water 
every  day  and  never  think  of  it  again." 


44  THE  THRESHOLD 

"It's  ripping!"  burst  out  Dick,  and  Joan  blushed. 

"What  air — what  an  evening — and  what  a  castle  of 
enchantment!"  she  breathed,  as  she  took  the  chair  Mr. 
Farwell  held  for  her. 

"You  like  it?"  he  said. 

A  servant  placed  a  tray  before  her,  loaded  with  mys- 
terious paraphernalia,  which  she  realized  she  was  ex- 
pected to  manipulate.  She  had  a  moment  of  cold  ter- 
ror. They  never  would  keep  her  on,  if  she  couldn't 
even  pour  their  tea  properly. 

;     "Shall  I  fill  the  teapot,  Madam?     The  faucet  of 
the  samovar  gets  very  hot,"  said  the  butler. 

"Yes,  please,"  assented  Joan,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

After  that  she  managed  very  well,  with  the  butler 
remedying  oversights.  She  took  notes  during  the  or- 
deal. When  the  butler  left  them,  they  chatted  easily 
and  without  effort.  Twilight  is  a  relaxed  hour  of  the 
day.  Joan  made  them  laugh  over  her  efforts  to  catch 
the  train.  Dick  went  off  and  brought  out  some  pup- 
pies to  show  her  and  all  three  of  them  were  amused  at 
their  youthful  antics. 

When  they  rose  to  go  into  the  house,  Dick  spoke 
impulsively. 

"Oh,  Miss  Babcock,  do  like  us  well  enough  to  stay 
for  ever!" 

"You  may  not  like  me  well  enough  to  want  me  to 
stay  that  long — "  laughed  Joan. 

"Yes,  we  will,  won't  we,  Uncle  Greg?" 

"We  want  her  to  stay  as  long  as  we  can  make  her 
contented,"  responded  the  older  man  politely.  Joan 
nodded  at  him,  smiling.  How  entirely  he  was  the  last 
expression  of  the  wealth  and  leisure  that  had  created 
this  estate.  Fie  had  every  patrician  quality  of  body — 
he  was  handsome  and  suave  and  delightful.  It  seemed 


THE  THRESHOLD  45 

for  one  sunset-flooded,  misleading  moment  that  it  was 
worth  the  toiling  and  moiling  of  the  mass  in  the  vil- 
lage, to  produce  this  beautiful  aristocrat — this  final 
^flower  of  civilization,  that  grew  out  of  the  muck. 

Her  mind  shot  back  to  Whiting  and  her  people.  She 
must  be  true  to  her  purpose.  What  place  had  she  here, 
with  the  enemy?  Must  it  be  always  the  enemy?  Was 
there  no  compromise?  Did  she  come  as  spy,  to  learn 
their  secrets,  or  did  she  come  as  missionary,  to  show 
them  the  light?  She  shook  herself  free  of  her 
thoughts. 

"You  are  chilled — we  kept  you  out  there  too  long," 
said  Mr.  Farwell. 

"I'm  not  cold.  It  was  a  ghost  walking  over  my 
grave,"  she  replied. 

"We  don't  allow  ghosts  at  Farwell  Hall,"  he 
gravely  assured  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JOAN  stirred,  stretched  herself,  opened  her  eyes. 
A  bird  was  singing  joyously  outside  her  open 
window.  She  sprang  out  of  bed  and  sent  the 
blind  shooting  up — a  sunny,  garden  world  lay  beneath 
her  and  beyond,  the  hills. 

"Um-um-um !"  she  breathed  it  in,  exultingly.  A 
glance  at  her  watch  showed  her  that  she  had  much 
time  before  breakfast,  which  occurred  at  nine  in  this 
leisurely  house.  She  put  on  a  bathrobe  and  sat  down 
by  the  window  to  think  out  the  problems  of  the  day. 

She  must  take  up  the  reins  of  government  before 
the  sun  set — but  how?  Should  she  throw  herself  upon 
the  human  sympathies  of  the  corps  of  servants  and  ask 
them  to  help  her  run  the  house,  or  should  she  adopt  the 
haughty  tone  she  had  been  moved  to  assume  with  Mrs. 
Craddock  and  never,  on  any  account,  admit  less  than 
an  omniscient  knowledge  of  how  to  conduct  a  mansion 
of  this  size.  Her  simple  democratic  soul  yearned  for 
the  former  plan — her  intelligence  backed  up  her  intui- 
tions, in  telling  her  it  would  never  work  out.  They 
might  like  her,  but  they  would  not  respect  her,  because 
they  would  question  her  authority.  No — she,  the  born 
rebel  against  the  authority  of  mere  position,  was  enter- 
ing upon  a  career  as  autocrat.  If  only  the  intricate 
machinery  of  living  did  not  overpower  her.  She  found 
that  she  was  instinctively  impressed  by  the  men  serv- 
ants who  had  served  the  dinner  the  night  before.  She 
must  get  over  that.  She  must  remember  that  they  were 

46 


THE  THRESHOLD  47 

of  much  less  importance  than  the  men  who  served  the 
furnaces  in  Whiting.  These  servants  were  a  part  of 
a  parasitic  system  that  must  go — she  had  heard  that 
reached  all  her  life.  The  fact  that  the  velvet-footed, 

.feet  service  of  that  meal  was  an  event  in  her  life, 
aist  not  affect  her  judgment.  Her  mind  went  round 
and  round. 

"Now,  look  here,"  she  said  to  herself  finally,  "you 
are  here  temporarily  as  a  part  of  a  system  you  condemn. 
You  are  here  to  serve  that  system,  not  to  demolish  it. 
Now,  you  must  either  put  your  radical  principles  to 
sleep  for  awhile  and  give  yourself  wholly  to  this  experi- 
ment— or  you  must  go  back  to  New  York  today — " 

"Of  course  it's  only  temporary — but  why  can't  I 
make  it  count?  If  I'm  to  fight  the  Capitalist,  why  can't 
I  study  his  habits  of  mind?  I  can't  do  anything  with 
Mr.  Farwell — but  can't  I  make  young  Dick  see  his  re- 
sponsibilities? I  mustn't  be  a  sneak  or  a  spy  or  a  cow- 
ard. If  I'm  challenged,  I  must  confess.  But  in  the 
meantime,  am  I  ready  to  give  my  convictions  a  vaca- 
tion?" 

A  pink  rose  fell  into  her  lap.  She  started  and  looked 
out.  Dick  was  in  the  garden,  smiling  up. 

"I  say — come  on  down — it's  a  great  day,"  he  called. 

"All  right — in  a  minute,"  she  answered.  She  knew 
that  she  had  made  her  decision.  She  was  in  for  it,  for 
a  month  anyhow.  She  knew  she  could  make  Mr.  Far- 
well  comfortable,  if  she  set  her  mind  to  it.  She  turned 
on  her  bath  and  sang,  because  she  was  glad. 

When  she  was  dressed  she  mastered  the  set  of  tele- 
phone bells  that  connected  with  all  departments  of  the 
house.  She  rang  for  the  housekeeper.  She  had  never 
rung  a  bell  to  summon  another  human  being  in  her  life 
and  she  marvelled  that  she  was  not  ashamed  to  do  it. 


48  THE  THRESHOLD 

When  Mrs.  Craddock  responded  she  told  her  that  she 
wished  to  make  a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  house  imme- 
diately after  breakfast.  Then  she  ran  downstairs  and 
into  the  garden  where  Dick  impatiently  waited.  -H^fe* 

"Thought  you  never  were  coming!"  he  complainecjJ 

"Twenty  minutes  by  the  clock,"  she  retorted.  "Oh, 
thanks,"  as  he  offered  a  cluster  of  June  roses,  dew- 
washed.  She  stuck  them  into  her  belt. 

"Did you  sleep?" 

"Like  a  top." 

"It's  bully  to  have  you  around." 

"It's  bully  to  be  here." 

"I've  got  a  horse  for  you." 

"But  I  don't  ride." 

"What?     Why  not?" 

"Never  had  a  chance  to  learn  or  money  to  buy 
things  to  ride  on." 

"My  word — I  thought  everybody  rode.  Well — I'll 
teach  you.  We'll  begin  after  breakfast." 

"Sorry — I  begin  my  job  after  breakfast." 

"What  job?" 

"Running  the  house." 

"Don't  you  bother — let  old  Craddock  do  it.  I'll 
keep  you  busy." 

"I'm  not  engaged  to  play  with  you." 

"Yes,  you  are.  Uncle  Greg  won't  expect  you  to  do 
much." 

"Then  I'll  surprise  him." 

"Do  you  like  to  work?"  incredulously. 

"I  do." 

"You're  a  queer  one!" 

"Don't  you  like  to  work?" 

"Nope— hate  it." 

"You're  a  poor  one !"  she  retorted. 


THE  THRESHOLD  49 

"Why?" 

"Because  loafers  and  shirkers  are  no  good." 

"Here — I  don't  like  those  words,"  he  flared  up. 

"The  things  they  mean  are  even  less  likeable,"  she 
answered  easily.  "Let's  go  see  the  puppies." 

"Good  idea,"  he  acquiesced,  and  led  the  way. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  joined  Mr.  Farwell  in  the 
breakfast  room.  "How  charming  and  young  they 
are  !"  he  thought  as  he  greeted  them.  Joan  looked  the 
boy's  age.  It  was  a  most  disconcerting  situation  he 
had  got  himself  into,  importing  this  odd  and  unde- 
niably attractive  young  woman  into  their  midst.  Of 
course  she  wouldn't  do — but  he  hoped  the  month  would 
pass  without  landing  Dick  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  her. 

When  they  were  seated  at  breakfast,  Dick  brought 
up  the  matter  of  Joan's  duties  again. 

"Look  here,  Uncle  Greg,  I  want  to  teach  Miss  Bab- 
cock  to  ride,  and  I  offered  to  begin  after  breakfast  and 
she  says  she  has  to  begin  her  job  then.  She  ought  to 
have  a  rest  before  she  starts  anything." 

"I  didn't  come  here  for  a  rest.  I'm  a  self-support- 
ing woman  with  work  to  do,"  smiled  Joan. 

"There's  no  hurry  about  anything  here,  Miss  Bab- 
cock,"  Mr.  Farwell  remarked.  "If  the  boy  wants — " 

"Please — the  boy  must  wait.  I  shall  give  my  entire 
attention  to  my  new  duties  today,"  she  said  decidedly. 

"As  you  like,"  he  said,  but  Dick  gloomed. 

At  ten  she  braced  herself  and  summoned  Mrs.  Crad- 
dock. 

"Good  morning  again,  Mrs.  Craddock.  I  thought 
the  best  way  for  me  to  begin,  was  to  ask  you  to  take 
me  over  the  entire  house  and  let  me  get  acquainted 
with  the  place  and  with  the  servants." 


50  THE  THRESHOLD 

Mrs.  Craddock  nodded,  and  led  the  way. 

"Have  you  been  here  long?"  Joan  proceeded,  un- 
daunted. 

"Since  Mr.  Dick  was  a  baby." 

"Is  that  so?  Have  most  of  the  people  in  the  house 
been  here  that  long?" 

"No — only  Annie,  the  cook.  Servants  ain't  what 
they  used  to  be.  They've  got  a  lot  of  notions  in  their 
heads,  is  what  I  say." 

"Well,  notions  in  the  head  help  the  world  grow, 
Mrs.  Craddock,"  was  Joan's  unfortunate  answer,  for 
Mrs.  Craddock  later  repeated  it  to  the  cook,  with  the 
bitter  comment,  "I  bet  she's  a  Socialist,  or  one  of  them 
things — "  But  cook  didn't  agree,  because  Joan  had 
made  a  fine  impression  on  her. 

"What  a  wonderful  kitchen !"  she  had  exclaimed  on 
entrance  to  that  domain.  "No  wonder  you  make  such 
delicious  things  to  eat,  Annie." 

"Glad  you  think  so,  Mum." 

Annie  initiated  Joan  into  a  world  of  wonders.  A 
kitchen  heretofore  had  meant  a  small  dark  place  of 
pots  and  pans.  This  was  a  huge,  sunny  laboratory, 
equipped  with  elaborate  apparatus,  with  several  as- 
sistants to  work  at  the  experiments,  as  Joan  phrased 
it  to  herself.  She  commented  intelligently  on  all  of 
it — and  managed  not  to  show  surprise. 

Dick  sauntered  into  the  kitchen,  during  her  interview 
there. 

"Hello — calling  on  Annie?  Isn't  her  kitchen  a 
wonder?  You  could  eat  off  the  floor  any  minute." 

"Oh,  now,  Mister  Dick,"  protested  Annie,  red  with 
pleasure. 

"Beats  any  kitchen  in  New  York,  I  tell  her." 

"It  certainly  is  a  fine  kitchen,"  Joan  agreed. 


THE  THRESHOLD  51 

"Sometime  when  we're  alone,  I'll  tell  you  how  it 
is  with  Annie's  cooking.  Uncle  Greg  and  I  have  to 
go  to  New  York  every  once  in  a  while  to  get  plain 
food." 

"Oh,  Mister  Dick,"  Annie  begged.  "Ye  know, 
Ma'am,  Mrs.  Craddock  an'  me  has  been  here  since 
Mister  Dick  come,  as  a  little  fella,  so  we  don't  pay 
no  attention  to  his  talk." 

"Don't  you,  now?"  he  cried  in  mock  fury.  "Well, 
you  and  Craddock  begin  to  pay  attention  to  me,  or  I'll 
get  Miss  Babcock  to  fire  you." 

Joan  smiled  at  his  nonsense,  which  delighted  the 
other  two  women. 

"When  are  you  going  to  be  through  here  ?  I've  got 
something  to  show  you,"  he  said  to  Joan. 

"I'll  be  busy  all  morning,  I'm  afraid.  But  don't 
wait  for  me." 

"Oh,  I've  got  nothing  to  do.  I'll  stick  round  and 
see  the  show.  I  haven't  been  over  the  plant  since  I 
was  a  kiddy,  tagging  Craddock,  and  carrying  her  keys." 

"Oh,  do  run  along.  You'll  be  horribly  in  our  way. 
Won't  he,  Mrs.  Craddock?" 

"He  won't  be  in  my  way.  He  can  come,  an'  wel- 
come, so  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  replied  that  person 
tartly,  glad  of  a  chance  for  opposition. 

"You  see,  I  have  one  friend,"  he  boasted. 

"Stay  here  an'  talk  to  me,  Mr.  Dick.  You  ain't  in- 
terested in  Mrs.  Craddock's  linen  closets,  an'  I  got  a 
chocolate  cake  in  the  oven,  about  due  to  come  out." 

"Ha,  I  take  you,  Annie.  Ladies,  these  impassioned 
bids  for  my  society  are  flattering  to  a  timid  youth,  but 
Annie,  with  the  chocolate  cake  wins,  in  a  walk." 

"Thank  you,  Annie,"  said  Joan. 

"I  may  join  you  later."  he  retorted 


52  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  only  receive  visitors  after  business  hours,"  said 
Joan  coolly. 

"I  wish  you  would  train  me  in  as  a  clerk,"  he  re- 
marked. "There's  nothing  to  do  round  here." 

"Cheer  up,  I'll  get  to  you  later.  We'll  find  some- 
thing to  keep  you  out  of  mischief.  Annie,  I  certainly 
have  no  criticisms  or  suggestions  to  make  on  your  de- 
partment," Joan  said.  She  nodded  to  Craddock  to 
lead  the  way,  and  the  two  inspectors  went  on. 

The  cook  was  flattered.  She  even  refused  to  join  in 
Mrs.  Craddock's  scornful — "Settin'  up  a  child  like  that 
on  me!  Did  you  see  her  hair?" 

"I  thought  her  hair  was  real  cute,"  defended  the 
cook. 

It  took  the  entire  morning  to  go  over  the  depart- 
ments— laundry,  kitchen,  storerooms,  bedrooms,  linen 
closets — and  all.  Joan  was  interested  every  minute, 
as  well  as  impressed  with  the  fact  that  it  took  an  actual 
factory  force  to  run  this  great  establishment  for  the 
housing  and  feeding  of  two  men.  It  was  a  revelation 
to  her. 

Everywhere  she  tried  to  show  an  intelligent  interest 
in  the  work  of  various  servants,  and  to  say  a  word  of 
appreciation. 

In  the  afternoon  she  asked  Mrs.  Craddock  to  go 
over  the  expenditures  in  the  various  departments — 
showing  her  the  account  books  for  the  last  six  months. 
She  found  them  incomplete  and  inaccurate.  Mrs. 
Craddock  said  Miss  Arethusa  had  no  head  for  figures. 

"But  doesn't  Mr.  Farwell  ask  to  see  the  accounts?" 

"No.  He  don't  care.  He's  free-handed  so  long  as 
he's  pleased." 

"But  that  is  bad  business.  I'll  have  a  talk  with  him 
about  that,"  Joan  remarked. 


THE  THRESHOLD  53 

"Coin'  to  teach  us  old  ones,  who  has  been  here  fif- 
teen year  how  to  run  a  house!"  scoffed  Craddock  to 
the  cook  later. 

"Mebbe  she  can — I  hear  they're  learnin'  the  young 
'uns  lots  of  things  these  days,"  replied  that  functionary. 

At  four  thirty  Joan  went  in  search  of  Mr.  Farwell 
and  found  him  reading  in  the  sun  porch. 

"Well,  you  have  had  a  busy  day!"  he  exclaimed,  ris- 
ing to  meet  her. 

"And  an  interesting  one,"  she  added. 

"How  did  you  find  my  demesne?" 

"Wonderfully  well  run — but  extravagantly." 

He  smiled. 

"I'm  afraid  that  is  true." 

"If  I  were  to  stay  here  for  any  length  of  time,  I'd 
introduce  a  regular  office  system,  of  accounts  and 
checks." 

"Would  you?"  he  asked,  interested. 

"Why  do  you  let  them  run  it  so  slackly?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"It's  easiest  not  to  be  too  demanding  of  them." 

She  made  no  reply  and  he  watched  her  expression. 

"Does  that  seem  too  supine  to  you?" 

"Yes — I  can't  understand  lethargy  or  inertia. 

"I  suppose  not,"  he  commented,  aware  of  her  vi- 
tality at  the  moment. 

"I  shall  make  no  radical  changes  until  after  my 
month  of  probation — but  if  I  stay  on,  I  warn  you." 

"I  am  warned.  Do  you  think  this  experiment  is 
going  to  interest  you,  Miss  Babcock?"  he  inquired  idly. 

"Every  experience  in  life  interests  me,  Mr.  Farwell," 
she  answered  briskly. 

"You  lucky  girl!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  sigh. 

"Lucky?     No — you  can't  take  anything  out,  that 


54  THE  THRESHOLD 

you  don't  put  in — I  put  myself  in  every  minute.  You'd 
have  some  fun,  too,  if  you  tried  it,"  said  his  strange 
new  employe. 

"I  wonder?"  remarked  Mr.  Farwell,  aware  that  she 
might  be  planning  to  revolutionize  him,  too.  He  was 
not  sure  that  he  would  not  enjoy  the  experiment. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GREGORY  FARWELL  had  lived  on  this  good 
green  earth  for  forty-five  easeful  years.  He 
had  come  into  his  fortune  at  twenty-one,  while 
he  was  still  in  college,  so  that  the  urge  of  necessity  was 
a  phrase  not  in  his  vocabulary.  The  death  of  the  elder 
Farwell  left  his  two  children,  Gregory  and  Elizabeth, 
Dick's  mother,  and  Dick  himself,  the  sole  heirs  of  a 
vast  estate. 

Elizabeth,  at  twenty,  married  Richard  Norton,  a 
handsome  ne'er-do-well,  a  college  friend  of  Gregory's. 
She  had  supported  him  in  luxury  until  his  death,  which 
happened  on  the  hunting  field  while  Dick  was  a  baby. 
The  young  wife  was  never  comforted  for  her  loss. 
She  grieved  herself  into  melancholia,  and  when  young 
Dick  was  eight  years  old,  she  took  her  life,  leaving  the 
boy  to  Gregory. 

As  he  was  in  India  at  the  time  of  this  tragedy,  he 
had  the  child  taken  to  Farwell  Hall  to  be  looked  after. 
It  was  nearly  two  years  later  that  he  put  in  an  appear- 
ance there,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  nephew. 
He  found  him  a  handsome,  sturdy  lad  of  ten,  fond  of 
sports  and  out-of-door  life.  He  was  no  student.  He 
was  both  spoiled  and  wayward.  In  fact,  Gregory 
found  himself,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  encumbered 
with  a  responsibility.  He  was  fond  of  the  boy,  just 
as  he  had  been  fond  of  his  care-free  father.  He  had 
no  very  definite  ideals  about  his  future,  or  the  kind  of 
training  he  needed,  other  than  the  inherent  ideals  of 


56  THE  THRESHOLD 

his  class — that  he  should  play  fair,  hit  straight  in  a 
fight,  and  have  a  regard  for  "the  things  that  are  done." 

The  seven  years  that  followed  were  the  formative 
years  of  the  boy's  life,  and  to  the  Recording  Angel  it 
must  have  seemed  that  he  was  learning  none  of  the 
lessons  of  self  control,  and  application  to  a  task,  which 
would  stand  him  in  stead  later.  His  education  was  a 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches.  A  few  terms  in  a  school, 
interrupted  by  a  year  of  aimless  travel,  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  six  months  with  a  tutor.  Preparation  for 
college  was  always  being  delayed  for  this  reason  and 
that.  Dick  was  devoted  to  his  uncle  and  perfectly 
satisfied  with  their  way  of  life. 

Gregory  was  scarcely  the  one  to  acquaint  the  boy 
with  the  thoughts  and  events  of  his  own  time,  because 
Gregory  disdained  all  contact  with  the  times.  He 
deemed  them  vulgar,  commercial  and  ugly.  Since 
Beauty  was  the  god  which  he  worshipped,  just  so  was 
Ugliness  the  devil  he  fought  away  from.  Not  that  he 
ever  roused  himself  to  do  battle  with  him,  but  he  es- 
caped him  at  every  point,  when  it  was  possible.  If 
he  was  actually  confronted  by  the  fiend,  he  looked  the 
other  way. 

He  was  aristocrat  in  every  fibre.  The  People  were 
as  remote  as  dwellers  in  Mars.  They  were  a  part  of 
the  ugliness  and  stupidity  of  the  world.  Business  he 
scorned.  He  left  the  administration  of  his  estate  and 
Dick's  to  men  who  understood  the  grimy  game.  Old 
Jake  was  quite  right;  he  never  saw  the  town  of  Far- 
well — he  had  not  looked  at  it  in  years,  not  since,  as  a 
boy,  he  had  noted  its  hideousness. 

He  surrounded  himself  with  exquisite  things  and 
luxury.  He  journeyed  to  all  the  beauty  spots  of  the 
world.  He  fed  his  spirit  with  music,  with  art,  with 


THE  THRESHOLD  57 

books,  like  a  gourmet — like  the  Count  O'Dowda,  in 
Fanny's  First  Play,  his  creed  was : 

"Out  of  the  soot  and  fog  and  mud  and  east  wind; 
out  of  vulgarity  and  ugliness,  hypocrisy  and  greed,  su- 
perstition and  stupidity — out  of  all  this,  and  in  the 
sunshine,  in  the  enchanted  region  of  which  great  artists 
alone  had  the  secret,  in  the  sacred  footsteps  of  Byron, 
of  Shelley,  of  the  Brownings  and  of  Ruskin." 

He  had  been  too  detached  from  the  life  about  him 
to  make  any  human  ties.  He  attracted  women,  partly 
because  of  this  very  aloofness,  but  no  woman  had 
deeply  intrigued  his  interest.  They  were  too  much  of 
the  times  for  his  taste.  His  gipsy  life  precluded  inti- 
mate friends.  So  impregnable  was  the  wall  that  this 
precieux  had  raised  between  himself  and  the  time  in 
which  he  lived,  that  no  suspicion  of  its  robust  ideals 
ever  crossed  his  mind. 

The  interruption  in  the  smooth  course  of  his  days, 
caused  by  the  death  of  Miss  Arethusa,  affected  him  as 
a  real  crisis.  It  fretted  and  irritated  him  intensely  to 
have  to  make  a  change — to  have  to  go  out  and  search 
for  a  woman  to  take  charge  of  them — and  now  to  ad- 
just himself  to  this  woman  was  a  serious  obligation. 

He  felt  that  Fate  had  played  a  trick  on  him  in  send- 
ing him  Joan.  He  could  not  make  out  how  he  had 
been  cajoled  into  accepting  her,  even  by  Dick's  insist- 
ence. He  knew  the  minute  that  he  looked  at  her  that 
she  was  a  person.  He  did  not  want  a  person — he 
wanted  a  shadow — a  well-bred  shadow,  to  flit  about 
unnoticed.  Nobody  had  ever  deliberately  looked  at 
Miss  Arethusa — not  more  than  once.  But  this  girl 
you  felt  every  minute — whether  she  was  in  your  sight 
or  not — you  felt  things  moving — changing. 

She  was  a  doer,  this  girl.     As  such,  she  menaced  the 


58  THE  THRESHOLD 

whole  fabric  of  his  life.  He  ought  to  send  her  off  at 
once,  while  there  was  time.  He  had  every  excuse. 
She  was  too  young,  she  was  too  vibrant — she  was  al- 
ready a  danger  for  Dick,  who  followed  her  about  like 
an  adoring  puppy.  Besides  he,  Gregory,  had  to  think 
about  her;  she  said  things  and  looked  things  that  he 
remembered — he  didn't  want  to  think  about  her — why 
should  he? 

In  the  midst  of  some  such  colloquy,  she  appeared. 

"May  I  interrupt  you  a  minute?" 

"Certainly." 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  Dick  would  be  in  about 
the  fifth  grade,  if  he  went  to  public  school?" 

"No— would  he?" 

"It's  pitiful  that  any  one  should  start  out  so  handi- 
capped, when  he  could  have  such  an  advantage.  He 
will  have  such  terrible  responsibilities,  and  how  is  he 
prepared  to  meet  them?" 

"Terrible  responsibilities?"  he  asked,  with  lifted 
eyebrows. 

"Isn't  he  an  heir — won't  he  be  the  head  of  those  fac- 
tories?" 

"Does  that  seem  to  you  a  'terrible  responsibility'?" 

"Wealth  is  the  greatest  responsibility  a  man  can 
have  in  these  days,  isn't  it?  It  means  the  welfare  of 
so  many  dependants.  It  lies  in  the  hands  of  great  cap- 
italists to  hold  back  the  world  or  to  push  it  bounding 
forward." 

"Does  it?     How?" 

There  was  a  hint  of  amused  interest  in  his  tone,  that 
caught  her  up  short. 

"You're  making  fun  of  me,  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Far- 
well.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was  this — if  you  like,  I 
will  tutor  Dick  an  hour  or  two  a  day.  I  have  time, 


THE  THRESHOLD  59 

and  I'm  so  lately  out  of  college  that  I  can  help  him,  I 
know." 

"I  think  that  is  very  delightful  of  you,  Miss  Bab- 
cock,  and  you  might  succeed  in  making  Dick  work. 
No  one  else  has.  But  you  must  not  let  our  obvious 
needs  absorb  you  too  much." 

"I  want  to  do  it.  I  have  not  enough  to  keep  me 
busy." 

"Must  you  be  busy?"  he  inquired. 

"Certainly.  Don't  you  think  special  advantages  lay 
upon  us  especial  responsibilities?" 

"May  I  ask  what  especial  advantages?" 

"Education  and — health." 

"You  think — you  must — pay  for  these  ?" 

"No — I  must  make  use  of  them — I  must  share 
them.  Don't  you  think  that?"  she  challenged  him. 

"No — I  refuse  to  accept  responsibilities." 

"But  you  can't  choose — they  descend  upon  you — just 
as  your  wealth  did  upon  you — as  it  will  upon  Dick." 

"Like  Fates!" 

"Yes—" 

"But  you  wouldn't  stand  up  against  Fate?" 

"Wouldn't  I?     I  have." 

"I'm  sure  Fate  got  the  worst  of  it!'*  he  laughed. 
"Go  after  Dick,  by  all  means.  I'm  almost  sorry  for 
him—" 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  feel  that  willy  nilly — you'll  get  some- 
thing into  his  head." 

"They  may  be  things  that  you  won't  want  to  have 
there—" 

"Of  course,  I  can't  act  as  censor  to  what  gets  into 
Dick's  brain." 

"I  just  wanted  to  be  fair  about  it,  and  call  your  at- 


60  THE  THRESHOLD 

tention  to  the  fact  that  if  I  should  make  a  man  of 
Dick,  I  don't  want  you  to  blame  me  for  it." 

"Look  here — what  are  you  plotting  for  poor  Dick?" 
he  demanded. 

"I'm  plotting  to  wake  him  up — to  get  him  interested 
in  life — to  make  him  see  the  world — to  make  him 
want  to  do  his  part." 

"It  sounds  boring  to  me." 

"Doesn't  everything  sound  that  way?" 

His  amused  glance  rested  on  her  again. 

"How  you  doers  scorn  us  dreamers  1" 

"Not  when  you  dream  outside  yourselves.  My  fa- 
ther was  a  dreamer — it  was  because  he  dreamed  that 
I  want  to  make  his  dreams  come  true." 

"What  did  he  dream?" 

"Will  you  let  me  go  ahead  with  Dick?" 

"By  all  means — you  have  my  blessing." 

"Would  you  rather  not  finish  this  month  of  proba- 
tion?" she  asked  unexpectedly. 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"I  know  I'm  not  what  you  want.  I  knew  it  at  first, 
of  course,  but  now  that  I've  been  here  for  a  week — 
I'm  sure  of  it." 

"I  hope  we  haven't  made  you  uncomfortable?" 

"No — I've  made  you  uncomfortable." 

"On  the  contrary — " 

"I  know  I'm  upsetting,"  she  interrupted.  "It  is  just 
as  if  a  real  person  walked  into  a  dream  world,  where 
things  were  faint,  and  shadowy  and  fine.  Where 
events  moved  slowly  and  nothing  made  much  difference. 
A  live,  purposeful  human,  out  of  a  living  world, 
couldn't  help  but  be  irritating  to  the  shades." 

He  laughed  aloud,  at  this. 


THE  THRESHOLD  61 

"Is  that  how  we  impress  you?" 

"Yes,  and  that's  how  I  impress  you.  Please  don't 
say  you  think  I  may  be  good  for  you." 

"But  I  don't — I  think  you  may  be  destructive  to  us," 
he  said  gravely. 

"Then  I  must  go,  of  course." 

"And  leave  Dick  to  his  ignorance  ?"  he  probed.  "By 
the  way,  you  don't  call  Dick  shadowy?" 

"Dick  might  follow  me  out  into  the  world  of  men — " 

"It's  safer  to  keep  you  in,  then." 

"But  if  I  bring  the  world  in  with  me — ?" 

"You  won't — you  can't.  I've  guarded  against  that 
calamity  for  years." 

"It  is  your  risk  then.  I'll  begin  on  Dick  tomorrow," 
she  said,  and  left  him. 

"Now,  why  didn't  I  send  that  disturbing  young 
woman  packing?"  he  inquired  of  himself. 

He  thought  of  the  long  line  of  tutors  who  had  tried 
to  induce  Dick,  by  artful  means,  or  to  drive  him  by 
stern  commands  into  the  realm  of  learning.  He  re- 
called their  various,  indignant  departures,  and  smiled. 
The  young  woman's  confidence  in  her  powers  was  cer- 
tainly amusing.  Dick  appeared  at  the  moment. 

"Have  you  seen  Miss  Babcock?"  he  inquired. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  let  her  get  out  of  your 
sight,  Dick?" 

The  boy  grinned. 

"She's  a  peach!"  he  remarked  enthusiastically. 

"I  thought  we  agreed  that  you  were  not  to  refer 
to  the  lady  as  a  peach." 

"You  agreed  to  it,  not  me." 

"Don't  be  fresh.  I  think  I  ought  to  warn  you  that 
Miss  Babcock  is  not  at  all  the  woman  we  need  here,  to 


62  THE  THRESHOLD 

my  thinking,  and  at  the  end  of  the  probationary  month, 
she  will  be  going  on,  so  don't  get  too  dependent  on  the 

lady." 

"Not  what  we  need?  Good  Lord,  what  do  you 
want?"  the  boy  burst  out. 

"I  want  an  older  woman,  with  more  experience,  and 
stability — "  Mr.  Farwell  began. 

"Experience  and  stability!  You  want  some  old 
party,  that  looks  like  Miss  Arethusa,  to  fuss  round  you 
and  hang  on  your  words." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous!" 

"Just  when  I'm  beginning  to  have  a  regular  home, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  with  a  woman  around 
who's  got  some  sense,  you  go  and  send  her  away.  I 
won't  stand  it!  If  she  goes,  I'll  go  too!"  he  cried,  in 
high  excitement. 

"Where  will  you  go,  may  I  ask?" 

"I'll  go  off  and  get  a  job.  I'm  not  going  to  stay 
around  this  lonesome  old  tomb,  if  she  goes." 

The  boy  flung  himself  out  of  the  room,  almost 
weeping.  Mr.  Farwell  stirred  uneasily. 

"I  must  send  her  away  tomorrow!"  he  said  firmly, 
to  himself. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GREGORY'S  threat  to  send  her  away  was  not 
carried  out. 
Joan  promptly  "began  on  Dick,"  as  she  pic- 
turesquely phrased  it.  He  was  a  reluctant  victim  at 
first,  but  when  she  assured  him  that  she  could  not  ac- 
cept riding  lessons  from  him  except  in  return  for  some 
lessons  from  her,  he  agreed  to  the  experiment  "for  a 
while."  After  the  first  few  days  there  was  no  pro- 
test, for  those  hours  from  eleven  to  one,  spent  on  the 
terrace,  or  in  Joan's  study,  became  a  pleasure  to  both 
of  them. 

Dick  had  a  quick  mind,  stored  with  all  sorts  of  odd 
facts  and  bits  of  information,  as  the  result  of  his  wan- 
derings over  the  globe.  He  was  anxious  to  do  well 
and  show  Joan  that  he  was  no  fool,  so  he  concentrated 
on  the  task  in  hand  for  the  first  time,  and  to  his  surprise 
he  enjoyed  it. 

"Caesar  was  some  little  general,  wasn't  he?"  he  re- 
marked one  day  when  they  were  busy  with  the  Gallic 
Wars.  "I  never  thought  about  his  being  a  real  fellow 
before — he  was  so  wrapped  up  in  Latin.  But  you 
make  me  get  him  in  spite  of  those  verbs." 

"Nonsense — you  get  him  yourself.  Of  course  he's 
a  real  fellow.  You  can't  afford  to  miss  him,  any  more 
than  you  can  Ulysses  in  The  Odyssey." 

"I  wish  I'd  had  you  around  all  the  time.  I'd  have 
been  through  college  by  now." 

63 


64  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Anybody  who  can  work  as  you  can — why  it's  a  sin 
you  haven't  finished  up  your  college  prep,  work! 
Where  are  you  going  to  college?" 

"Harvard — all  of  our  men  go  there." 

"Pity  you  can't  go  to  a  western  university." 

"Why?" 

"It  would  be  so  good  for  you — open  your  eyes  to 
things  you  ought  to  know.  You  may  get  an  education, 
but  you'll  never  learn  anything  about  the  country  you 
live  in  and  the  people  who  make  it  what  it  is,  by  going 
to  Harvard  for  four  years." 

"Why  do  I  need  to  know  about  the  country  and  its 
people?"  he  asked  her. 

"Because  you  are  going  to  have  great  power  some 
day  over  many  people,  through  your  money,  and  you 
owe  it  to  them  that  you  know  something  of  them,  of 
their  thoughts  and  needs.  You  must  know  what  the 
men  of  the  country  are  thinking." 

"Uncle  Greg  doesn't." 

"We're  talking  about  you,"  she  evaded. 

She  led  him  into  various  studies,  psychology,  an- 
thropology, the  social  sciences.  She  never  announced 
that  they  were  about  to  begin  a  new  course,  but  she 
led  his  mind  in  the  desired  direction  and  aroused  his 
interest,  by  reading  and  discussion.  She  thoroughly 
enjoyed  testing  her  own  powers  and  she  flattered  her- 
self she  was  working  out  a  simple  educational  system 
fitted  to  her  pupil,  in  a  way  any  pedagogue  might  envy. 
They  worked  together  for  two  hours  in  the  morning 
and  Dick  pegged  away  an  hour  or  more  by  himself  in 
the  afternoon  or  evening.  The  fact  of  the  matter  was 
that  the  boy  had  been  bored  to  death  with  his  own  aim- 
lessness,  and  part  of  his  enthusiasm  came  from  the  satis- 
faction of  having  a  core  to  his  day. 


THE  THRESHOLD  65 

"I'm  watching  your  miracle  on  Dick  with  interest 
and  some  awe,  Miss  Babcock.  How  do  you  do  it — is 
it  witchcraft?"  inquired  Gregory. 

"Simplest  thing  in  the  world — I've  got  him  inter- 
ested in  what  he  is  learning,  instead  of  putting  the 
emphasis  on  the  idea  that  he  is  learning  something." 

"I  see — you  catch  him  unawares,  as  it  were,  and 
teach  him  something.  Very  indirect  and  feminine," 
he  remarked. 

"Perhaps,  although  I  don't  admit  that  indirectness  is 
feminine.  I  prepared  myself  for  college  without  much 
direction,  so  I  know  all  the  short  cuts  and  the  natural 
ways  to  learn  things." 

"Very  interesting — hope  it  lasts — " 

"It  will  last,"  she  said  confidently.  "His  curiosity 
is  awake  now.  He's  got  a  good,  quick  mind.  I  wish 
I  could  send  him  to  the  University  of  Wisconsin — " 

"Horrors—why?" 

"It's  so  modern — and  American.  It  would  make  a 
man  of  him." 

"Can't  they  make  a  man  of  him  at  Harvard?" 

"They  might,  but  they  won't.  They'll  make  an  aris- 
tocrat of  him." 

"If  I  were  sensitive  I  should  perhaps  defend  my 
kind.  Why  do  you  object  to  us  so  bitterly?" 

"If  you  would  do  instead  of  just  be,  I  think  you 
could  save  the  world." 

"But  why  should  we  save  the  world?" 

"Because  you've  had  all  the  gifts,  the  advantages." 

"I  can't  follow  you  in  this  Puritan  idea  of  responsi- 
bility," he  remarked.  "It  is  foreign  to  my  whole  con- 
cept of  endurable  living." 

"There  is  no  way  we  can  explain  to  each  other,  is 
there?  Why  do  we  discuss  it?" 


66  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  enjoy  discussion,  myself,  and  you  are  so  fervent 
about  your  ideas." 

She  left  him  with  the  sense  she  so  often  had,  that  he 
was  secretly  amused  at  her.  She  realized  that  his 
mould  was  set  and  not  to  be  changed,  but  Dick's  mould 
was  in  the  making  and  she  had  a  chance  to  help  shape 
it.  She  was  getting  interested  in  Dick. 

The  riding  lessons  became  a  part  of  the  day's  rou- 
tine also.  Dick  was  a  very  exacting  teacher,  but  he 
admitted  that  she  "caught  on  quickly."  "The  point  is 
to  stick  on,"  she  retorted.  He  was  determined  that  she 
should  ride  in  good  form,  so  he  drilled  her  like  a  riding 
master. 

"Dick,  you  don't  encourage  me  enough.  I  am  lots 
more  lenient  with  you,"  she  protested. 

"If  I  do,  you  get  cocky.  Got  to  keep  a  tight  rein 
on  you — " 

"I'm  going  to  try  it  on  you,"  she  threatened. 

"Don't  need  to — I  stand  without  hitching." 

Their  rides  took  them  all  over  the  great,  beautiful 
estate.  They  could  ride  for  hours  in  it,  never  going 
out  of  Farwell  grounds.  Some  of  it  was  very  wild, 
some  of  it  kept  like  a  park. 

"Dick,  doesn't  it  make  you  wonder  why  you  are  to 
be  the  owner  of  this?"  Joan  asked  him  one  day. 

"No — why  should  I  wonder?  It  comes  to  me  just 
as  it  came  to  Uncle  Greg,"  he  replied  casually. 

"And  what  have  you  either  of  you  done?" 

"Done?  You  don't  have  to  do  things  all  the  time. 
You're  always  harping  on  doing  something,"  he  said 
testily. 

"It's  only  chance  that  did  it,  you  know.  You  might 
have  been  a  boy  down  in  the  factories  in  Farwell,  just 
as  well  as  not." 


THE  THRESHOLD  67 

"I  suppose  you'd  have  liked  me  better,  if  I  had 
been." 

"I  don't  say  that:  Depends  on  the  rest  of  your  life 
as  to  whether  you're  as  much  good  as  the  factory  boy." 

"What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?"  he  demanded. 

"Beat  me  to  the  end  of  this  path — "  she  laughed  and 
galloped  ahead  of  him.  It  was  by  such  methods  that 
she  was  getting  Dick  awake.  She  knew  she  could 
never  preach  him  into  anything — she  had  to  sting  him 
into  interest.  She  was  already  planning  an  object  les- 
son in  the  dirty  little  town  of  Farwell.  When  the 
time  was  ripe  she  would  take  him  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion. 

Joan  wrote  to  Miss  Earl  about  it,  in  one  of  the  sev- 
eral letters  she  had  written  that  lady. 

"It's  a  very  complex  job,  you've  selected  for  me. 
The  house  runs  all  right — at  least  I'm  letting  it  alone 
until  I  see  whether  I  stay  on.  I  doubt  if  I  do.  Mr. 
Farwell  objects  to  me,  because  I  stick  out  of  the  pic- 
ture, I  keep  waking  him  up  when  all  he  wants  is  to 
doze.  I  let  him  severely  alone  as  much  as  I  can. 

"But  the  boy  is  a  different  story.  He  is  a  bright, 
lovable  creature,  full  of  all  the  wrong  ideas.  How 
can  we  build  up  a  democracy  when  our  privileged  class 
lives  as  these  people  do,  rolled  up  in  cotton  batting? 
I'm  trying  to  unwrap  the  boy.  I  tutor  him  and  we 
read  together  and  talk  and  argue  every  day.  We  play 
tennis  and  swim  and  I've  learned  to  ride  horseback,  so 
at  least  I  fulfil  my  duties  of  amusing  the  boy.  Shall  I 
make  a  good  Socialist  of  him?  I  believe  I  could  do 
it!" 

A  portion  of  Miss  Earl's  answer  ran  as  follows: 

"I  told  him  in  the  beginning  that  his  situation  was 
unusual  so  I  cannot  rely  upon  precedent  in  the  case> 


68  THE  THRESHOLD 

but  I  should  say,  offhand,  that  making  a  good  Socialist 
out  of  a  boy  millionaire,  was  not  a  part  of  the  duty  of 
a  young  woman,  placed  in  a  household  as  an  authority 
on  domestic  science!  However,  I  never  advise  the 
people  I  place.  My  duty  is  accomplished  when  I  place 
them.  I  feel  sure  that  your  intelligence  will  not  let 
you  do  anything  contrary  to  good  taste." 

"Bless  her  heart — she's  warning  me!"  smiled  Joan, 
as  she  read.  "She  never  did  anything  in  her  life  that 
wasn't  in  good  taste — she  couldn't — her  ancestors 
wouldn't  let  her!  But  I  didn't  have  any  ancestors,  I 
haven't  any  fine  breeding;  I'm  just  a  working  girl  out 
of  Whiting,  Indiana,  with  a  chance  to  make  a  convert. 
What  do  I  care  about  taste?  That  belongs  to  Greg- 
ory Farwell  and  Miss  Earl — I  can't  afford  to  have  it." 

Driven  to  her  colours  by  Miss  Earl's  warning,  she 
rode  away  into  the  town  one  morning  when  Dick  and 
Mr.  Farwell  had  gone  to  New  York.  She  looked  over 
the  ground  from  the  outside,  as  it  were.  She  made 
friends  with  one  or  two  women  who  sat  in  dooryards. 
She  disarmed  suspicion  by  telling  how  she  had  been 
born  in  a  factory  town,  of  factory  workers,  in  the  West. 

"But  we  have  better  conditions  than  you  do,"  she 
added. 

"There's  no  use  kickin'  here — we've  tried  it,"  one  of 
the  women  replied  indifferently,  "an'  mdst  of  us  are 
too  poor  to  get  out." 

"Any  unions?" 

"Naw — company  won't  stand  for  it." 

"They'd  have  to,  if  you  got  organized." 

"They've  tried  it  here." 

"Don't  your  children  go  to  school?"  Joan  asked, 
trying  a  new  tack. 


THE  THRESHOLD  69 

"Naw — there  ain't  no  school,  'ceptin'  away  cross 
town,  so  none  of  the  young-uns  round  here  go." 

"That's  a  shame!" 

"Sure — they's  lots  of  shames  'round  here,"  said  the 
woman. 

"I  wish  I  could  get  you  women  who  don't  work  in 
the  factories,  to  let  me  tell  you  some  things  we  learned 
in  Whiting.  Will  you  ?" 

"Sure— talk's  cheap." 

"Could  we  get  them  together?" 

"Come  'ere,  Johnny — "  called  the  woman,  and  a  rag- 
tag boy  appeared.  "Go  'round  and  tell  everybody 
that's  home  to  come  on  over  here,  there's  somethin* 
doin'.  That'll  bring  'em,"  she  added,  as  he  sped  away. 

They  began  to  gather  at  once  from  all  directions. 
Sodden,  work-worn  women,  just  like  her  mother  had 
been.  They  were  avid  for  any  excitement,  from  a 
fight  to  a  prayer  meeting.  At  sight  of  Joan,  they 
halted.  Mrs.  Rafferty,  their  would-be  hostess,  urged 
them  in. 

"Come  on — she's  a  factory  girl — she's  goin'  to  tell 
us  sumpin — "  she  exclaimed.  So  they  leaned  on  the 
fence  or  squatted  on  the  steps,  eyeing  the  stranger  sus- 
piciously. 

"Be  ye  a  boy  or  a  girl?"  inquired  a  wit,  which  brought 
much  laughter. 

"Girl — "  smiled  Joan.  "I  wear  breeches,  because  I 
ride  astride.  You  can  stick  on  a  horse  better  that  way, 
than  side-saddle." 

"Where  do  ye  come  from?" 

She  explained  her  job  at  the  Hall. 

"Well — what's  the  latest  news  in  society?" 

"One  of  the  latest  items  is  this — that  the  rich  get 


70  THE  THRESHOLD 

their  rights  because  they  take  them.  They  don't  sit 
down,  like  a  lot  of  fish,  and  let  somebody  get  ahead  of 
them,  just  because  they're  too  stupid  to  fight.  You 
people  all  live  in  this  town,  your  husbands  vote  here — 
Why  don't  you  make  this  town  build  a  public  school  in 
this  district  so  that  your  children  can  get  some  educa- 
tion and  grow  up  to  be  capitalists  themselves?" 

"My,  ain't  she  a  stylish  talker?" 

Joan  laughed.  She  knew  them — their  prejudices 
and  suspicions. 

"If  you  people  want  to  wake  up  here,  I'll  help  you. 
I've  been  through  all  this  and  I  know.  You're  my 
people  and  I'm  yours —  Get  your  men  stirred  up  on 
this  school  business  and  I'll  help  you." 

"Better  not  tell  King  Farwell  that !" 

"But  I'll  just  get  him  interested,  too." 

This  was  greeted  with  laughter. 

"Say — you're  the  merry  joker,  you  are!"  they  gibed. 

"Wake  up  and  make  some  demands  on  him !  Don't 
let  him  live  up  there  in  the  idea  that  you  love  the  way 
things  are  down  here  and  you  wouldn't  change  'em  for 
worlds  1  You're  the  people  to  stir  things  up,  you 
women.  Get  busy!"  said  Joan,  mounting  her  horse. 
She  waved  her  hand  at  them  and  galloped  off. 

"I  may  have  to  leave  the  Hall,  but  my  work  is  right 
down  here,"  she  said  gravely,  and  rode  through  the 
woods  with  knit  brows  and  unseeing  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IX 

FOR  two  days  after  the  inspection  of  Farwell, 
Joan  pondered  her  situation.  She  had  obvious 
duties  toward  her  employer,  she  was  truly  in- 
terested in  her  work  with  Dick,  but  down  in  those  dirty 
huts  were  her  people — the  people  she  was  to  dedicate 
her  life  to.  It  seemed  a  cruel  jest  that  she  could  not 
help  one  without  hurting  the  other.  Her  own  basic 
honesty  refused  the  thought  of  double  dealing.  The 
end  of  the  month  of  probation  was  at  hand,  and  if 
these  men  wanted  her  to  stay,  she  knew  she  wanted  to 
accept,  but  there  must  be  no  misunderstanding  in  that 
agreement. 

When  Mr.  Farwell  asked  her  to  come  to  his  study, 
on  the  day  in  question,  she  went  reluctantly,  because 
she  dreaded  the  interview.  He  rose  and  smiled  in  his 
genial  way  at  her,  inviting  her  to  sit  down.  His  smile 
always  disarmed  her.  She  characterized  it  to  herself 
as  "a  misleading  smile."  "It  makes  you  expect  a  man 
of  the  broadest  human  sympathies,  and  it  hurts  to  find 
he  has  no  sympathies  at  all,"  she  had  said  over  and 
over  in  her  thoughts. 

"I  suppose  you  realize  this  is  the  last  day  of  the 
month  of  probation  we  agreed  upon,  Miss  Babcock," 
he  began. 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"I  feel  that  the  month  has  given  us  a  fair  idea  of  one 
another,  don't  you  ?" 

71 


72  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Ye-es." 

"Superficially,  I  mean,  of  course.  The  whole  test 
of  the  family  idea  seems  to  me  to  be  harmony.  Now, 
should  you  say  that  you  and  Dick  and  I  are  sufficiently 
harmonious  to  live  together?" 

"I  think  we  have  managed  comfortably  enough  for 
this  month.  I  think  Dick  and  I  could  always  man- 
age." 

"You  find  me  the  disturbing  element,"  he  smiled. 

"No — I  am  that.  It  is  your  atmosphere  here,  and 
I  invade  it — " 

"Like  an  army  with  banners,"  he  finished  for  her, 
and  she  smiled — 

"Like  an  army  with  trumpets,  I  suppose  you  think!" 

"Dick  is  the  real  point.  As  you  say,  you  and  he 
'manage.'  I  can  see  now  how  the  boy  needed  just  such 
a  dynamic  personality  as  yours  to  fire  his  faculties. 
I'm  not  unaware  that  Dick  and  I  are  under  great  obli- 
gations to  you,  whether  you  stay  on  with  us,  or  not." 

"Thank  you." 

"I  know  that  life  with  us  is  not  exciting.  The  edu- 
cation and  companionship  of  a  seventeen  year  old  boy 
cannot  be  very  absorbing  to  a  girl  of  your  capacities." 

He  hesitated,  looking  at  her  for  her  answer,  but  she 
felt  it  to  be  prefatory  to  the  sentence  he  must  deliver, 
so  she  made  no  reply. 

"I  confess  that  nothing  could  be  farther  from  my 
original  intention  than  to  install  a  young  woman  of 
your  type  as  the  head  of  my  household." 

"I  remember,"  she  nodded,  and  quoted  the  require- 
ment which  had  been  written  on  Miss  Earl's  card — 
"Well  bred,  college  education,  taste  for  books  and  fine 
arts." 
\  He  stared. 


THE  THRESHOLD  73 

"Was  that  what  I  asked  for?" 

"And  I  am  what  the  gods  provide  1" 

They  both  laughed  at  that. 

"You  told  me  that  if  you  stayed  on,  you  would  in- 
stall some  system  into  my  housekeeping — " 

"Yes— I  would." 

"Would  it  be  very  upsetting?" 

"It  might.  Mrs.  Craddock  is  a  bit  old  for  new 
tricks." 

"That's  the  trouble." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"How  do  you  feel  about  us?"  he  continued.  "If  I 
keep  out  of  the  way,  can  you  put  up  with  us?" 

He  watched  the  slow  colour  mount  her  face.  She 
certainly  was  bewitching  to  look  at. 

"You  mean  you  want  me  to  stay  on?" 

"If  you  will.  I  hate  to  think  of  the  effect  on  Dick, 
if  you  abandon  us." 

He  wondered  at  the  grave  look  that  came  into  the 
girl's  face.  She  looked  older,  in  a  second. 

"I  want  to  stay,"  she  began. 

"Good — then  that  is  settled." 

She  rose  as  if  to  go — hesitated — 

"Mr.  Farwell,  is  it  true  that  you  are  the  owner  of 
the  factories  in  Farwell?" 

He  stared. 

"Yes,  as  Dick's  guardian,  I  am,  Miss  Babcock — 
Why?" 

"Have  you  ever  gone  over  them?" 

"No — I  haven't  been  in  them  for  years.  When 
there  is  anything  to  discuss,  the  managers  come  to  me. 
Why?" 

"You  wouldn't  care  to  go  and  look  at  them,  would 
you?" 


,74  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  would  not." 

"Dick  will  own  them  some  day?" 

"Yes.     When  he  is  twenty-one." 

"He's  never  been  over  them  either,  has  he?" 

"Not  that  I  know—" 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  take  him  through  those  factories  ?" 

"You?     Why  should  you?" 

"Because  I  would  like  him  to  see  how  the  lives  of 
many  people  are  all  tangled  up  with  his.  Being  the 
owner  of  those  factories  is  a  man's  job — it  ought  to  be 
Dick's  job — he  ought  to  be  training  for  it,  now." 

Gregory  frowned  slightly. 

"There  are  capable  men  in  charge  of  it  now,  thank 
you.  I  can't  think  of  Dick  mixing  up  with  it." 

Joan  faced  him  with  shining  eyes. 

"Give  Dick  a  chance  to  choose!" 

He  could  not  understand  her  ardour;  it  irritated  him 
slightly. 

"Certainly.  But  if  you  think  the  inside  view  of  the 
factories  would  fill  Dick  with  a  longing  to  run  them, 
I  beg  of  you  to  reason  with  him.  If  it  seems  so  im- 
portant to  you  that  he  should  see  his  holdings,  by  all 
means  take  him.  I'll  give  you  a  card  to  the  man- 
ager." 

"I  promise  not  to  try  to  influence  him  in  the  matter." 

"I  don't  think  you  need  worry  about  him.  My  ex- 
perience with  Dick  leads  me  to  believe  that  he  will 
always  choose  the  easiest  and  most  comfortable  way  of 
doing  things." 

How  she  hated  his  scoffing ! 

"I  think  you  scarcely  realize  that  Dick  is  at  the  very 
door  of  manhood.  His  enthusiasms  are  alive,  his  emo- 
tions are  ready  for  the  torch — " 

"Well?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  75 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  can  sway  the  boy's  whole  fu- 
ture?" she  cried,  angry  at  his  cool  obtuseness. 

"You  mean  he  is  in  love  with  you?" 

She  flushed  scarlet  at  that. 

"No —  I  mean  that  his  imagination  is  awake.  Don't 
you  see  you  teach  him  only  a  negative  philosophy — 
mine  is  positive." 

"You  mean  your  theory  of — I  suppose  you  call  it 
service?" 

"Yes,  I  mean  that." 

"I  know  you're  a  very  clever  young  woman — what 
you  say  of  the  boy's  state  of  mind  may  be  true,  but  I 
also  know  Dick." 

"Do  you  give  me  leave  to  convert  Dick?" 

"I  should  enjoy  watching  you  try  it." 

"Oh,  you  can't  laugh  at  everything  I"  she  cried. 
"This  is  so  serious,  and  you  only  scoff !" 

"I'm  not  scoffing.  I  find  your  fervour  inexplainable 
and  exhausting — so  few  things  are  worthy  of  fervour. 
If  we  were  in  a  play,  now,  you  would  challenge  me  to 
a  struggle  for  the  soul  of  Dick — "  he  smiled. 

She  kept  her  self-control  with  difficulty. 

"I  shall  show  Dick  the  factories,  as  I  see  them." 

"Why  do  you  care  so  much  about  those  factories?" 

"Because  I  was  born  in  the  shadow  of  one;  because 
my  father  lost  his  life  in  a  factory  accident,  and  my 
mother  dragged  herself  through  one,  day  in,  day  out, 
until  the  welcome  grave  opened  to  her.  They  are  my 
people  down  in  Farwell —  Now,  do  you  understand  ?"• 

Gregory  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — "  he  said. 

"I  offer  to  resign,  Mr.  Farwell." 

"Why  should  you?"  gravely. 

"Can  I  serve  you  and  Farwell  too?" 


76  THE  THRESHOLD 

"What  do  you  want  to  do  there?" 

"Clean  it  up — make  it  decent." 

"Hopeless." 

Her  laugh  was  a  taunt. 

"You  can't  do  it  without  stirring  up  trouble." 

"Probably  not." 

"I  won't  have  that." 

"You  could  do  it  yourself,  without  trouble,"  she  said. 

"I'm  afraid  you  must  choose  between  us  after  all, 
Miss  Babcock.  It  seems  necessary  for  us  to  be  theat- 
rical." 

She  hesitated. 

"You  won't  let  me  take  Dick  there,  now?" 

"Yes — but  I  hold  you  to  your  promise  this  time,  that 
you  will  not  influence  him,  to  stir  up  trouble.  We've 
managed  to  keep  things  quiet  there  for  some  time,  and 
I  can't  have  any  interference." 

There  was  no  lack  of  force  in  his  voice  this  time. 

"Possibly  you  will  not  decide  the  question  of  your 
greater  duty,  Miss  Babcock,  until  after  Dick's  tour  of 
inspection?" 

"I  would  like  to  think  it  over  a  day  or  so,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"By  all  means.  I'm  obliged  to  you  for  playing  so 
fair  with  me." 

"You've  been  fair,  too,"  she  said. 

He  smiled  at  her. 

"If  you  are  labour  and  I  am  capital,  that  line  is  not 
in  our  roles  at  all." 

"It's  the  key  to  the  whole  solution,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "That's  why  I'm  so  eager  for  your  party  to 
begin  to  be  fair!" 

"Must  we  begin?     Why  doesn't  your  party  try  it?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  77 

"We  can't.  We'll  respond,  if  you'll  only  let  us. 
But  you  have  the  power." 

"There  you  go  with  your  eternal  responsibility,"  he 
protested. 

"You  shirk  but  you  don't  escape,"  she  said,  and  left 
him. 

Out  on  the  terrace  Dick  sat  at  a  book-littered  table. 
The  sun  specked  his  yellow  hair  and  fell  across  the 
rich  brown  of  his  sun-burned  neck.  At  sound  of  her 
step,  he  looked  up,  his  whole  face  lighting  with  wel- 
come. Then  he  came  toward  her. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  he  complained.  "I've 
been  waiting  half  an  hour.  You  act  as  if  my  educa- 
tion were  of  no  interest  to  anybody." 

She  put  her  hand  impulsively  on  his  broad  shoulder. 

"Dicky — Dicky — your  education  is  of  such  vital  im- 
portance to  so  many  people!"  she  answered  gravely, 
with  quick  tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"I  say — what's  up?"  he  asked.  "Has  Uncle  Greg 
been  plaguing  you  ?" 

"No — I'm  afraid  I've  been  plaguing  him." 

"Good  thing!  He  needs  it.  Cocky  old  beggar, 
Uncle  Greg.  He  needs  stirring  up." 

"Why  don't  you  stir  him  up?" 

"Nope — you're  the  one  to  take  him  in  hand." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  about  stirring  everybody 
up." 

He  tipped  his  chair  onto  its  back  legs  and  looked  at 
her. 

"You  can't  help  it!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  X 


OAN  wrote : 


JDEAR  Miss  EARL,  The  incredible  has  happened!  Mr. 
Farwell  has  asked  me  to  stay.  Stranger  still,  I  want  to 
stay.  But  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  tell  him  that  I  intended  to 
rouse  Dick  to  his  responsibilities  in  regard  to  those  factories  I 
wrote  you  about  in  the  town.  He  was  very  scoffing  about  my 
ability  to  do  that,  so  I  threw  down  the  gauntlet  to  him,  my  phil- 
osophy against  his,  for  Dick.  He  thinks  it  will  amuse  him  to 
watch  me  try  to  make  a  good  employer  out  of  Dick.  You've  no 
idea  how  incensed  I  get  at  his  eternal  jeering  at  things!  If  only 
the  Lord  would  arouse  him  with  a  thunderbolt  (not  fatally)  ! 

I  told  him  about  my  people  in  Whiting,  because  he  challenged 
my  interests  in  the  workers.  I  also  admitted  that  I  wanted  to 
clean  up  that  town,  and  in  order  to  do  it,  I  might  make  trouble 
for  him — therefore  I  tendered  my  resignation.  He  refused  it. 
He  roused  himself  enough  to  order  me  to  let  his  employes  alone 
and  he  exacted  a  promise,  already  offered  by  me,  not  to  try  to 
influence  Dick  to  make  trouble.  "Trouble"  is  the  one  terror 
of  Mr.  Farwell's  life.  If  he  could  be  sure  of  uninterrupted 
tranquillity,  he  would  ask  no  more,  I'm  sure.  Think  of  it — 
a  grown  man,  worth  millions,  sliding  through  the  days  like  a 
shadow ! 

He  agreed  that  the  boy  should  inspect  the  factories;  he  has 
promised  me  a  card  to  the  superintendent.  It  seems  to  me  that 
no  responsibility  that  can  come  to  me  could  equal  that  which 
I  face  with  this  boy.  His  mind  is  virgin  soil,  and  what  I  plant 
is  what  is  to  grow  and  flower.  I  know  I  have  a  personal  influ- 
ence with  him  that  frightens  me.  He  thinks  what  I  say  must 
be  right.  He  knows  absolutely  nothing  of  the  world  of  work- 

78 


THE  THRESHOLD  79 

a-day  people.  He  has  never  denied  himself  anything,  done  any- 
thing for  anybody.  He  is  just  a  big,  lovable  child,  and  what 
I  know  I  must  teach  him  will  hurt  him.  But  he  must  not  grow 
up  to  be  like  Mr.  Farwell,  of  that  I  am  sure. 

You  see  the  problems  here  are  all  psychological,  none  of  them 
practical,  material.  How  sardonic  that  a  course  in  domestic 
science  could  land  me  in  such  a  tangle ! 

I  cannot  promise  you  "the  good  taste"  which  you  appeal  to 
in  your  last  letter,  dear  Miss  Earl,  but  you  may  rely  on  my 
scrupulous  honesty.  One  of  the  complicating  features  is  that  I 
feel  myself  to  be  your  representative  here,  as  well  as  the  mis- 
sionary of  my  working  people.  I  shall  act  with  deliberation 
and  a  prayerful  sense  of  duty. 

I  wish  you  would  tell  me  frankly  how  you  feel  about  it  all. 
I  have  grown  to  look  upon  you  as  a  sort  of  mother  confessor — 
do  you  mind? 

With  cordial  regards, 

JOAN  BABCOCK. 

This  was  the  letter  which  Joan  dispatched  to  the 
head  of  the  Professional  Women's  Bureau,  the  night 
of  the  talk  with  Gregory. 

Now  that  she  had  "had  it  out"  with  her  employer, 
and  explained  the  situation  to  Miss  Earl,  she  felt  sud- 
denly freed.  She  could  let  things  drift  for  a  little. 
The  main  thing  now  was  the  education  of  Dick — Far- 
well  must  wait  for  him.  It  might  take  her  a  year  to 
prepare  him  just  to  truly  see  Farwell.  Now  that  it 
was  settled  that  she  was  to  stay  on,  that  she  was  to  be 
permitted  to  carry  out  her  plans,  a  wave  of  gratitude 
swept  over  her.  She  wanted  to  sing  and  dance. 

It  was  something  of  this  mood  that  caught  Gregory's 
attention  at  breakfast  the  next  day  and  made  him  say, 

"Dick,  has  Miss  Babcock  seen  our  cave?" 

"No— not  yet." 


8o  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  suggest  a  pilgrimage  there  today.  We  can  go 
on  horses  and  Jergens  can  bring  the  lunch  after  us,  or 
we  can  motor  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  and  walk  in — 
'any  way  you  like." 

"Great  idea,  Uncle  Greg!" 

"Could  you  close  your  school  for  a  day,  and  come, 
Miss  Babcock?" 

"Gladly— I'd  love  a  day  off." 

"You  see,  Dick,  you  work  Miss  Babcock  too  hard — " 

"Don't  you  worry  about  my  working  her!"  pro- 
tested his  nephew. 

"How  shall  we  go,  Miss  Babcock — horse  or  mo- 
tor?" 

"I  vote  for  horses." 

"Good  for  you.     So  do  I." 

"Horses  it  shall  be.  If  you'll  order  the  lunch,  I'll 
give  Jergens  instructions  about  meeting  us." 

"Anybody  any  special  longings  in  the  direction  of 
food?"  she  inquired. 

"Plenty  of  everything,"  called  Dick  as  she  departed. 

It  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  summer  day.  They  set 
forth  in  high  good  humour  on  their  holiday.  It  was 
the  first  time  Mr.  Farwell  had  joined  them  on  their 
rides,  and  he  brought  the  pleased  colour  to  Joan's  face 
when  he  complimented  her  horsemanship. 

"I  had  a  stern,  but  excellent  teacher,"  she  laughed. 

"She's  some  credit  to  me,"  bragged  Dick.  "Show 
the  gentleman  how  you  can  gallop,"  he  ordered,  and 
touched  his  horse  sharply. 

She  was  off  after  him  in  a  flash,  and  Gregory  thun- 
dered along  behind  them  for  half  a  mile. 

"Good  work!"  he  cried,  as  they  pulled  into  a  walk, 
flushed  and  hot.  She  turned  a  glowing  face  upon  him. 
"How  alive  that  girl  is — she  rides  as  passionately  as 


THE  THRESHOLD  81 

she  plans  to  save  Dick's  soul  and  mine,"  was  his  in- 
ward comment. 

She  and  Dick  laughed  and  chaffed  and  teased  each 
other  along  the  way — they  raced,  they  played  circus 
tricks,  like  a  couple  of  boys.  They  made  Gregory  feel 
a  trifle  elderly,  but  on  the  whole  he  was  highly  diverted 
by  their  antics.  It  certainly  was  a  new  light  upon  the 
girl.  No  wonder  she  focused  the  boy's  attention,  if 
she  played  with  him  like  this.  Gregory  had  an  idea 
that  she  was  always  acting  the  mentor,  or  trying  to 
improve  his  mind,  but  evidently  this  idea  needed  amend- 
ing. Ever  since  her  boast  of  her  humble  origin,  Greg- 
ory had  found  himself  watching  her  with  interest. 

She  had  a  quick  delight  in  colour,  and  now  and  then 
she  exclaimed  over  the  things  that  gave  her  pleasure. 

"You  are  fond  of  the  country,"  Gregory  said  to  her. 

"I  love  it.  I  had  no  idea  how  satisfying  it  would 
be.  I've  never  been  in  ideal  country  before — I  mean 
woods  like  this.  It  was  barren  prairie  about  my  home. 
There  were  only  parks  in  Chicago.  They  were  beau- 
tiful— but  this — it  is  so  lovely  on  a  day  like  this,  that 
it  hurts." 

"We  must  take  her  to  the  Forest  of  Fontainbleau  and 
to  Como,  and  some  of  the  other  places  we  like,  Uncle 
Greg,"  said  Dick. 

"Dick,  don't  talk  like  that — it  interferes  with  my 
heart  action!"  exclaimed  Joan.  "Those  are  just  won- 
der-words in  a  dream-vocabulary,  those  aren't  things 
that  come  true." 

"Don't  they?  We'll  take  you  in  a  minute,  if  you 
want  to  go.  Uncle  Greg  is  the  best  old  guide  you 
ever  met.  He  knows  every  out  of  the  way  spot  in 
the  world,  I  guess,  and  he  never  expects  any  guff  about 
cathedrals." 


82  THE  THRESHOLD 

They  all  laughed. 

"I  leave  it  to  you,  Miss  Babcock,  if  I  could  have 
higher  praise." 

The  trees  were  forest  trees  now,  with  underbrush  in 
some  places,  or  low  hanging  boughs  to  be  avoided. 

"The  trails  are  all  gone,  Dick,"  commented  Mr. 
Farwell.  "Are  you  sure  of  the  direction?" 

"Yes,  I  know  the  way." 

"We  usually  keep  a  trail  cut  through,  for  the 
horses,"  he  explained  to  Joan.  "Evidently  the  men 
haven't  got  to  it  this  summer." 

"I  think  it's  more  fun  without  trails.  How  will 
Jergens  get  in  with  the  lunch,  though?"  she  added. 

"He  can  see  our  path  where  we've  tramped  down 
the  brush,"  answered  Gregory. 

"He's  such  a  fool !  I'll  let  you  two  go  ahead  and 
I'll  wait  for  him  here,  rather  than  to  miss  the  lunch," 
said  Dick. 

"Nonsense — he'll  find  us.     Go  on,  Dick." 

It  was  very  slow  going,  because  they  had  to  pick 
the  way,  so  that  the  brambles  would  not  cut  their 
horses'  legs.  It  was  nearing  two  o'clock  when  they 
finally  came  to  the  clearing  in  the  forest,  before  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  Dick  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Gee!  It's  nearly  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and 
no  food!  Jergens  will  never  get  here." 

"Cheer  up,  Dick,  starvation  never  takes  place  within 
twenty-four  hours  of  the  last  meal,"  comforted  Mr. 
Farwell. 

"I  hope  you  ordered  lots  of  grub,"  he  appealed  to 
Joan. 

"Tons.  That's  what's  the  matter  with  poor  Jer- 
gens. The  hamper  is  so  full,  he  can't  carry  it." 

"He'll  have  a  snap  going  back,  I  promise  you.     Let's 


THE  THRESHOLD  83 

take  her  in  the  cave — it'll  keep  our  minds  off  our  hun- 
ger." 

"Lead  the  way,"  nodded  Gregory. 

So  Dick  peered  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  and 
went  cautiously  in.  Joan  came  next  and  Gregory  last. 
They  held  each  other's  hands. 

"Tell  her  the  story,  Uncle  Greg,  it's  more  spooky 
in  the  dark." 

"The  tale  has  to  do  with  the  tragedy  of  a  great- 
great-great-great  grandfather  of  ours,  also  named 
Gregory  Farwell,"  said  Gregory  promptly.  "He 
brought  a  young  wife,  Gertrude,  to  Farwell  Hall,  where 
he  lived  by  the  gun  and  the  rod.  He  was  many  years 
her  senior,  and  his  hunting  left  her  much  alone.  But 
in  his  household  lived  a  retainer,  young  and  handsome. 
One  day  when  the  lord  of  the  house  returned,  he  found 
his  bride  had  fled  with  her  lover.  He  followed  them 
— he  found  them.  He  brought  her  back,  and  the  story 
goes  he  walled  her  up  in  this  cave,  with  a  boulder 
against  the  opening.  Years  after  they  found  her  whit- 
ening bones,"  he  concluded,  in  the  properly  impressive 
tones. 

"Poor  lady !"  said  Joan. 

"The  end  of  the  tale  and  the  end  of  the  cave,"  said 
Dick.  "Right  about  face." 

They  turned  and  clutched  their  way  back  to  the 
light. 

"Queer  how  depressing  it  is  underground,"  Joan 
said.  "If  we  lived  there,  I  suppose  it  would  seem  as 
normal  as  the  top  of  the  earth.  I'd  rather  live  in  the 
air." 

"Look  here — I  don't  want  to  live  on  the  air,"  ex- 
claimed Dick.  "You  two  sit  down  and  I'll  go  back 
over  our  tracks  a  way  and  help  Jergens  carry  the  grub." 


84  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Keep  to  our  tracks,  now,  Dick,  we  don't  want  to 
have  to  send  a  search  party  after  you,"  cautioned  Greg- 
ory. 

"Nothing  but  the  scent  of  food  will  get  me  off  the 
track.  I'll  be  back  in  a  little  while." 

He  tramped  off.  Gregory  found  a  comfortable  spot 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree  for  Joan,  and  stretched  himself 
out  beside  her. 

"Are  you  frightfully  hungry?"  he  asked  her. 

"No—are  you?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  rather  like  your  idea  of  our  living  in  the  air. 
Looks  rather  jolly  up  there,"  he  remarked,  looking 
through  the  interlaced  branches.  "How  would  we  be 
housed,  do  you  think?" 

"Air  castles,  of  course,"  she  replied. 

"Reached  by  airships,  defended  by  air  guns." 

"Heated  by  hot  air!"  she  added,  laughing. 

"Would  you  have  the  people  fitted  out  with  wings, 
like  the  angels  in  the  ecclesiastical  pictures?" 

"Oh,  no,  they  aren't  modern.  Those  wings  were 
too  big  and  unwieldy,  and  I'm  sure  they'd  be  consid- 
ered unhygienic  in  these  days.  Small  bi-plane  effects 
on  ankles  and  shoulders  would  be  the  newest  thing." 

"Aereated  foods,  of  course — "  he  contributed. 

"Cultivated  in  sky  gardens,  by  each  inhabitant." 

"Oh,  you'd  have  them  all  work?" 

"I  would." 

"No  capitalist  class?"  he  teased.  "No  owners  of 
great  tracts  of  clouds,  no  monopolists  of  sun  rays,  no 
trusts  to  corner  moisture,  or  to  manufacture  liquid 
ozone?" 

"No,  no,  no!     A  free  people,  superior  to  the  law 


THE  THRESHOLD  85 

of  gravitation,  each  one  living  on  the  fruits  of  his  own 
effort." 

"That  would  be  the  only  'fruits'  they  could  raise  in 
your  socialistic  cloud  colony." 

"I'd  have  it  a  true  democracy!" 

"With  woman's  suffrage?"  he  chaffed. 

"How  could  it  be  a  democracy  without?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"Better  not  have  any  education,"  he  advised. 

"Why  not?" 

"It  only  tends  to  emphasize  the  inequalities  in  minds. 
Or  would  you  have  a  regulation  sized  mind,  worn  by 
all?" 

"Only  minds  with  union  labels  need  apply !" 

"That's  the  idea.  Necessary  to  the  kind  of  com- 
munity you  want." 

"Couldn't  you  manage  to  suppose  a  state  of  fra- 
ternity where  the  ones  who  had  the  most  ability  would 
give  their  excess  to  the  others?"  she  asked  him. 

"I  cannot." 

"I  can." 

"I  hope  I'll  never  be  condemned  to  live  in  this  sky 
parlour  place !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Why?" 

"Bore  me  to  death.  I'd  rather  live  in  that  cave. 
So  would  you,"  he  added.  "Nothing  for  you  to  do 
in  that  perfect  one-mind  community.  You'd  be  the 
same  kind  of  waste  there,  that  you  accuse  me  of  being 
here." 

"I  don't  accuse  you  of  any  such  thing,"  she  retorted. 

He  turned  a  laughing,  scoffing  face  up  to  her.  A 
ray  of  sun  struck  across  his  eyes. 

"By  Jove — that  sun  is — "  he  looked  at  his  watch — 


V 

86  THE  THRESHOLD 

"it's  four  o'clock!"  he  exclaimed,  getting  to  his  feet. 
"Where  do  you  suppose  that  boy  is?" 

"I  think  we'd  better  get  on  the  horses,  and  find  out," 
she  replied. 

"Suppose  you  stay  here  in  case  he  comes  back.  I'll 
go  over  the  track  and  shout  for  him.  He  should  have 
taken  his  horse,"  he  grumbled,  as  he  saddled. 

"How  long  shall  I  wait  here?  The  trail  would  be 
difficult  after  dark." 

"I'll  come  back  for  you;  you  aren't  afraid?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Nice  outing  we've  given  you — no  lunch,  and  now 
Dick  lost!"  he  complained.  He  mounted  his  horse. 

"Hurry  back — I  shall  be  anxious — " 

"Don't  worry — the  crazy  youth  may  have  got  off 
the  path.  I'll  find  him  in  no  time." 

He  rode  away,  under  the  trees,  leaving  Joan  to  face 
the  unaccustomed  silence  of  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOR  some  time  Joan  could  hear  Gregory  shout- 
ing, but  presently  that  died  away,  and  the  in- 
tense stillness  settled  down  upon  her.  To  Joan, 
unused  to  the  forest,  its  quiet  was  oppressive  and  terri- 
fying. She  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep,  only  to 
start  at  every  sound  of  cracking  twig  or  chattering 
squirrel.  A  big  bird  flapped  low  overhead  and  she 
rose  and  walked  about.  She  went  to  talk  to  the 
ponies,  to  feel  their  companionship.  Why  hadn't 
Gregory  set  her  a  task  to  do?  She  hated  inaction. 
Time  wore  on  slowly,  and  nothing  happened.  The 
sun  dropped  lower.  The  shadows  slanted  through  the 
trees  and  flooded  the  place  with  melancholy. 

Joan  decided  she  could  not  bear  it — she  must  do 
something.  She  found  an  envelope  in  her  bag  on 
which  she  wrote  a  line  saying  she  had  joined  the  hunt 
and  would  return.  She  pinned  it  to  a  tree.  Then 
with  great  difficulty  she  saddled  her  horse  and  started 
on  the  trail. 

She  rode  slowly,  looking  right  and  left.  When  she 
had  gone  a  half  mile  or  so  she  came  to  a  place  where 
it  looked  as  if  two  trails  had  been  made,  by  a  trampling 
down  of  the  brush.  Her  instinct  told  her  that  the  one 
to  the  left  was  the  one  they  had  come  in  on,  so  maybe 
Gregory  had  veered  off  here,  making  the  other.  She 
called  and  called — first  Dick,  then  Mr.  Farwell.  But 
no  answer  came  except  the  shrill  outcry  of  birds,  who 

87 


88  THE  THRESHOLD 

whirred  up  from  the  trees,  chattering  their  angry  pro- 
test. There  was  a  tree  near  the  parting  of  these  two 
paths,  and  to  it  she  tied  her  horse  and  set  out  on  foot, 
down  the  trail  to  the  right.  She  was  no  woodsman  nor 
had  she  a  knife,  so  she  did  not  blaze  the  way  on  trees, 
but  she  tore  up  two  handkerchiefs  and  tied  bits  of  them 
to  branches  and  when  they  were  used  up  she  laid  sticks 
in  such  a  way  that  if  she  could  see  them,  she  could 
recognize  them.  It  was  getting  dusk  now,  the  long 
summer  twilight  setting  in.  She  hurried  on,  stopping 
to  call  at  intervals.  All  signs  of  trampling  done  by  a 
horse  or  man  had  vanished,  but  still  she  hurried  on, 
stumbling  over  things,  frightened  at  the  sudden  scarn- 
perings  about  her.  Something  must  have  happened  to 
Dick.  Finally  she  tripped  on  a  log  and  fell  over  it. 
She  was  so  tired  she  did  not  get  up.  It  was  almost 
dark,  just  a  grey  shadow  of  light.  Somewhere  there 
was  a  breaking  of  twigs,  as  if  under  foot.  She  sat  up 
and  shouted — there  was  an  answering  call  and  Dick 
plunged  into  view,  bedraggled  and  hot  with  effort. 

"Dick — is  that  you?"  she  called  to  him. 

"Joan — good  Lord!"  he  cried  and  hurried  to  her, 
kneeling  beside  her.  "What  is  it?  What  hap- 
pened?" 

"We  were  frightened  about  you,  and  Mr.  Farwell 
went  to  look  for  you.  I  couldn't  stand  it  to  wait,  so  I 
set  out  too." 

"But  I'm  clear  off  the  track — I've  been  batting  about 
for  hours,"  he  said. 

"I  can  find  the  way  back  if  we  hurry  before  it  gets 
too  dark.  I've  got  my  horse  tied  down  here.  Pull 
me  up,"  she  commanded. 

He  helped  her  and  she  tottered  a  little. 

"You  must  be  nearly  dead!"  he  protested. 


THE  THRESHOLD  89 

"I'm  all  right.     Come  on,  now." 

She  took  his  hand  and  led  the  way.  She  had  no 
idea  she  could  find  her  white  flags  in  the  dark,  but  she 
saw  that  the  boy  was  worn  out,  so  she  took  a  firm  in- 
itiative. For  what  seemed  hours  they  stumbled  along, 
trying  to  find  Joan's  landmarks.  When  they  came  to 
the  first  handkerchief  strip  they  set  up  a  shout  and  went 
ahead  with  new  courage.  They  did  not  talk,  they  were 
too  tired. 

Once  they  were  sure  that  they  had  lost  the  lead  en- 
tirely and  they  set  up  a  halloo.  A  whinny  answered 
them. 

"It's  the  horse  I"  cried  Joan.     "We're  all  right." 

Finally  they  came  in  sight  of  the  mare  and  knew  they 
were  safe. 

"She'll  have  to  carry  us  both,"  said  Joan,  mounting. 
"Get  up  behind — I  know  the  way  now." 

So  Dick  managed  to  get  his  aching  body  astride  the 
mare  and  they  moved  slowly  toward  the  woods  which 
surrounded  the  cave. 

"If  Mr.  Farwell  has  got  back  he  is  probably  furious 
at  me,"  said  Joan,  her  only  remark  during  the  long 
ride.  As  they  neared  the  wood  they  saw  the  smoke  of 
a  fire  and  again  they  shouted.  This  time  the  answer 
came  and  as  they  approached,  they  saw  figures  waving. 
Mr.  Farwell  was  at  Joan's  bridle  in  a  second. 

"I — I  found — "  she  began,  and  as  Dick  fell  off  the 
mare,  Joan  would  have  followed  suit,  had  Mr.  Farwell 
not  caught  her.  He  lifted  her  from  the  saddle  and 
carried  her  to  the  fire,  where  he  laid  her  on  a  blanket. 

"Coffee — Jergens,"  he  said,  and  when  it  was  brought 
he  lifted  her  head  and  administered  it. 

Dick  stumbled  into  view  and  sat  beside  Joan,  with 
concern. 


90  THE  THRESHOLD 

"She  must  have  walked  miles!"  he  said.  "She  isn't 
dead,  is  she?" 

"No — just  faint  and  exhausted,"  Gregory  encour- 
aged him.  "Drink  your  coffee,  boy,"  he  added,  as 
Dick's  black-circled  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  face. 

"Is  there  food?"  asked  Dick. 

"Yes,  sir,  lots  of  it,"  answered  Jergens. 

When  Joan  opened  her  eyes  upon  the  scene,  she 
found  herself  supported  by  Mr.  Gregory's  arm,  her 
head  back  against  his  breast;  she  was  completely  dazed 
for  a  minute.  She  found  his  answering  smile  reassur- 
ing, and  then  she  saw  Jergens  with  a  plate  piled  high 
with  food. 

"Oh — food!"  she  exclaimed  and  sat  up. 

They  devoured  food — there  is  no  other  word  for  it. 
They  drank  the  coffee  from  two  big  thermos  bottles, 
as  well  as  a  quart  of  sauterne.  They  exchanged  almost 
no  words  during  the  process. 

But  when  they  had  consumed  every  scrap  of  Mrs. 
Craddock's  excellent  luncheon,  they  stretched  out 
around  the  fire,  with  groans  of  satisfaction  and  each 
one  told  what  had  happened  to  him. 

Dick  had  gotten  off  the  track  and  wandered  for 
hours.  Gregory  had  ridden  straight  out  to  the  road, 
which  led  up  to  the  forest  and  there  had  found  Jergens. 
He,  in  turn,  explained  how  he  tried  to  get  in  with  the 
big  hampers  and  realized  that  he  could  not  make  it, 
so  he  had  gone  back  to  the  motor,  thinking  Dick  would 
return  for  the  food.  Gregory  had  brought  the  ham- 
pers to  the  cave  on  his  horse,  Jergens  following  on 
foot.  When  they  found  Joan  gone,  it  was  already 
dark  and  they  had  lighted  the  fire  as  a  signal. 

Then  Joan  told  how  she  grew  restive  and  decided  to 
start  off  too,  and  had  eventually  found  Dick. 


THE  THRESHOLD  91 

"Such  a  comedy  of  errors !"  exclaimed  Gregory  at 
the  end  of  her  recital.  "I  suppose  I  should  have 
known  better  than  to  expect  you  to  sit  still  and 
wait." 

"I  tried — but  I  couldn't  do  it,"  she  smiled  back  at 
him. 

"Are  you  nearly  dead?"  Dick  asked  tenderly. 

"No,  Dick,  I  think  I'll  live  nowl" 

"I  could  kill  myself  for  doing  this  to  you,"  he  went 
on. 

"Why,  I'm  all  right,"  she  protested.  "You  couldn't 
help  getting  lost." 

"Well,  you're  a  peach  to  come  and  look  for  me,  and 
I'll  never  forget  it,"  he  exclaimed  passionately. 

"Nothing  heroic  about  that  rescue,"  laughed  Joan. 
"I  collapsed  over  a  log  and  Dick  nearly  collapsed  over 


me." 


Gregory  was  grateful  to  her  for  coming  to  the  rescue 
so  quickly  and  saving  the  boy  from  his  overwrought 
feelings. 

"Next  time  we  have  a  picnic,  we'll  chain  Dick  and 
the  lunch  to  a  tree  at  the  beginning  of  the  party,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Farwell. 

"Isn't  it  nice  the  way  the  fire  throws  shadows  1"  Joan 
exclaimed,  as  she  lay  on  her  back  looking  up  at  the 
great  trees  above  her.  They  all  stared  up  into  the 
night  sky  for  a  little  in  comfortable  silence. 

"Let's  spend  the  night  right  here,"  suggested  Dick. 

"You'd  be  so  stiff  after  a  night  on  this  damp  ground, 
you'd  never  walk  again,"  replied  his  uncle.  "We 
ought  to  be  on  our  way  now,  children,"  he  added,  ris- 
ing for  a  consultation  with  Jergens. 

When  he  was  gone,  Dick  leaned  over  and  laid  his 
cheek  against  Joan's  hand.  She  started  a  little,  then 


92  THE  THRESHOLD 

she  lifted  it  to  his  head  for  a  second  and  remarked 
gently. 

"Poor  tired  kid  1" 

"Don't — "  he  answered,  getting  to  his  feet  and 
going  to  join  the  men. 

Presently  Gregory  came  to  Joan. 

"We're  short  a  horse,"  he  said.  "It  seems  hardly 
fair  to  ask  Jergens  to  walk  back.  Would  you  mind 
riding  with  Dick  or  me  and  letting  him  use  your  mare?" 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered. 

"We're  ready,  then,"  he  said,  offering  his  hand  to 
pull  her  up. 

She  went  over  to  where  the  horses  were  saddled. 

"Come  with  me,  Miss  Babcock?"  begged  Dick. 

She  hesitated  a  second. 

"No,  thanks,  Dick.  I  think  Mr.  Farwell's  horse 
is  stronger  and  bigger." 

Dick  mounted  and  went  ahead  to  cover  his  disap- 
pointment. Jergens,  with  the  hampers,  followed  on 
Joan's  horse — Mr.  Farwell  helped  her  up,  mounted 
himself — drew  her  into  a  comfortable  position  before 
him,  and  the  cavalcade  started. 

They  did  not  talk — it  was  slow  going,  and  difficult. 
Once  or  twice  Gregory  felt  her  body  relax  against  him 
in  sleep,  only  to  stiffen  again,  resisting  her  weariness. 

"Go  to  sleep — I  won't  let  you  fall  off,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer — only  shook  her  head.  Long 
after  midnight  they  came  to  the  road  where  the  ma- 
chine waited.  Dick  and  Joan  were  transferred  to  the 
back  seat,  while  Gregory  elected  to  ride  and  lead  the 
other  horses. 

The  two  in  the  motor  were  asleep  almost  at  once. 
They  had  to  be  forcibly  aroused  at  the  door  of  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  93 

Hall.  They  staggered  indoors,  blinking  and  cross, 
like  children. 

Gregory  came  up  to  Joan  and  took  her  hand. 

"Good  night,  Miss  Babcock.  Sleep  all  day  tomor- 
row, if  you  can.  Permit  me  to  say  that  you  are  a  very 
good  sport." 

"Amen,"  added  Dick,  yawning. 

"Good  night  and  thanks,"  replied  Joan.  She  left 
them  with  the  feeling  that  this  experience  had  made 
them  for  the  first  time  three  friends. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  SPITE  of  her  numerous  duties  at  the  Hall,  Joan 
managed  to  follow  up  her -first  visit  to  the  town. 
She  made  friends  with  all  the  children,  and  estab- 
lished a  speaking  acquaintance  at  least  with  the  women 
in  the  shanties.  She  went  about  among  them  and 
noted  the  conditions  under  which  they  lived.  She  got 
to  know  their  names  and  how  many  people  there  were 
in  their  families.  They  talked  frankly  enough  of  their 
troubles  and  joys,  so  she  soon  learned  which  husbands 
were  drunkards,  which  sons  were  malcontents,  which 
daughters  were  "bad-uns." 

As  the  heat  of  the  summer  came  on,  Joan  often  rode 
down  to  spend  an  hour  with  Mrs.  Rafferty.  A  word  to 
the  boy  at  the  corner  drug  store  and  at  the  proper  time, 
when  the  clans  had  gathered,  a  relay  of  ice  cream  cones 
would  arrive,  or  a  bucket  of  iced  lemonade  would  ap- 
pear, enough  for  all  the  hot,  dirty  children,  as  well  as 
their  mothers. 

They  all  liked  her — she  furnished  diversion  in  their 
dull  days,  as  well  as  refreshments;  occasionally  a  re- 
mark of  some  factory  hand  would  be  repeated  to  her, 
warning  them  against  her. 

"Say,  Miss  Babcock,  our  Patsy  sez  yer  a  spy — " 
piped  one  of  the  many  Raffertys,  as  Joan  rode  up  one 
day. 

"Does  he,  now?"  she  answered,  busy  tying  her  horse 
to  a  telegraph  pole. 

There  was  a  rush  from  the  house,  a  flash  of  red  hair 

94 


THE  THRESHOLD  95 

and  angry  face  and  -the  young  offender  was  caught  up 
in  a  grip  of  steel  and  punishment  administered  to  the 
tune  of  howls.  It  brought  Mrs.  Rafferty  onto  the 
scene. 

"Good  day  to  yez,  Miss  Babcock.  Patsy,  leave  Jim 
alone—" 

"I'll  learn  'im  to  blab  what  I  say — "  replied  the 
eldest,  with  renewed  attention  to  his  brother. 

"Did  you  ask  him  not  to  tell  me?"  asked  Joan. 

He  turned  to  her  in  some  surprise,  upon  which  Jim 
managed  to  escape. 

"I  did  not!"  he  answered  truculently. 

"This  is  my  Patsy,  Miss  Babcock — "  intervened 
Mrs.  Rafferty.  "Now,  Patsy,  don't  give  her  none  of 
yer  lip!" 

Joan  advanced  to  him  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I'm  no  spy,  Pat — don't  you  worry  about  that.  I'm 
a  worker  like  yourself." 

He  shook  hands  with  obvious  reluctance,  and  he 
looked  her  in  the  eye  with  active  suspicion.  He  was  a 
youth  of  about  the  same  age  as  Dick.  A  shock  of  curly 
bright  red  hair,  surmounted  a  handsome,  keen  Irish 
face — eyes  full  of  fire  at  the  moment,  but  usually  full 
of  mischief.  He  had  the  white  freckled  skin  that  goes 
with  that  colouring. 

"I've  heard  a  good  deal  about  you,  Pat,  I'm  glad  to 
meet  you,"  Joan  continued. 

"B'en  livin'  fer  this  day,  I  suppose,"  he  retorted. 

"Just,"  she  answered  and  laughed.  He  grinned  a 
little,  reluctantly.  "Holiday  today?" 

"Nope— fired." 

"Too  bad.     What  happened  ?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  he  replied  and  walked  off. 

Joan  looked  after  him  a  second.     She  was  sorry 


96  THE  THRESHOLD 

he  resented  her  interest.  He  must  be  won  over,  of 
course,  for  here  was  a  personality.  This  was  the  stuff 
leaders  were  made  of.  Mrs.  Rafferty  gave  her  a 
shrewd  glance  as  she  came  toward  the  "stoop"  as  they 
called  the  platform  in  front  of  the  shanty. 

"Your  Patsy  doesn't  like  me,"  Joan  remarked. 

"Don't  pay  no  moind  to  'im — he's  that  sore  wid  de 
foreman  at  the  factry,  him  that's  always  a-firin'  him. 
He's  a  big  sthiff,  called  Larsen,  an'  him  an'  Patsy  ain't 
frindly." 

"Do  you  know  why?" 

"Sure,  I  know  why.  Larsen  is  a  Swede,  and  he's  a 
foighter — wit  de  gloves,  ye  know.  When  he  first  come 
he  was  tellin'  how  he  cud  lick  the  whole  town  wit  wan 
hand,  an'  so  the  byes  got  thegither  and  made  'im  up 
a  purse  av  five  dollars  and  invited  him  to  meet  our 
Patsy." 

"Can  Patsy  box?" 

"Can  he  box?  Can  anny  Irishman  foight?  Ye  bet 
he  can.  They  tell  me  he  ain't  scientific,  but  he  sure  is 
quick  on  the  comeback.  The  Swede  was  slow  and 
heavy,  an'  Patsy  wore  him  out  an'  beat  'im  up.  When 
Larsen  got  to  be  foreman,  he  began  to  pick  on  Patsy. 
He  fires  him  for  the  least  thing!"  she  concluded  hotly. 

"But  he  takes  him  back?" 

"Sure — he's  got  to.  Patsy's  one  of  the  best  work- 
ers. He's  what  they  call  the  pace-maker.  He  keeps 
the  men  cheerful  and  workin'  to  the  limit." 

"I  see.     He  looks  smart." 

"Sure  he's  smart.  I  wisht  he  wasn't  so  smart — his 
pay  envelope'ud  come  in  more  reg'lar." 

"Don't  you  worry — Patsy  isn't  through  yet.  You 
may  be  proud  of  him  before  he's  much  older." 


THE  THRESHOLD  97 

"Who  says  I  ain't  proud  of  'im?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Rafferty. 

"Are  the  men  going  to  do  something  about  the 
school?"  inquired  Joan. 

"Naw — they  say  it's  no  use — they  ain't  got  time  to 
'tend  to  it." 

"I  wish  we  could  get  your  son  to  take  it  up." 

"Patsy  wouldn't  bother  'imself." 

"I  could  talk  to  him  about  it,"  Joan  said  thought- 
fully. 

"Here  he  comes  now,"  remarked  his  mother,  as  her 
son  approached.  "Miss  Babcock  wants  to  ask  ye  a 
favour,  Patsy,"  she  grinned. 

An  angry  flush  came  over  his  face. 

"It  isn't  a  favour  to  me — it's  a  favour  to  the  kids  of 
this  town,"  Joan  amended,  as  he  started  to  go  into  the 
cabin.  He  stopped  and  looked  at  her. 

"The  only  real  weapon  for  us  against  the  capitalist 
is  education,"  she  said.  "You  know  that." 

He  nodded. 

"The  reason  they  put  it  over  on  us,  is  because  we're 
ignorant." 

"But  we  ain't  always  goin'  to  be  ignorant!"  he  burst 
out. 

"We  are,  when  we  let  the  Town  Councils  run  us,  like 
they  do  in  this  town." 

"What  d'ye  mean?" 

"There's  no  school  for  this  district.  It's  so  far  to 
the  one  public  school  that  the  factory  people's  children 
can't  go — or  don't  go.  You're  all  voters  here.  Why 
don't  you  head  a  delegation  of  citizens  to  pack  the 
next  town  meeting  and  demand  a  school  in  this  dis- 
trict?" 


98  THE  THRESHOLD 

"You  mean  me?" 

"Why  not?  You  want  these  kids  to  have  a  chance, 
don't  you?" 

"Sure—" 

"You  can  tell  that  to  the  Town  Council,  can't  you?" 

"Sure." 

"It  would  be  a  big  thing  to  do  for  our  side,"  she  re- 
marked casually,  rising  to  go.  "Good-bye,  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty.  Go  to  it,  Pat.  I  wish  I  could  help  you." 

She  nodded  to  them,  untied  her  horse  and  rode  away. 
On  the  way  home  she  went  over  and  over  the  conversa- 
tion, wishing  she  might  have  said  more  or  said  it  better. 
If  that  boy  could  be  aroused  to  fight  for  the  things 
that  were  important,  nothing  would  stop  him. 

As  for  Patsy,  he  pooh-poohed  the  idea  that  this 
much  discussed  young  woman  could  indicate  his  duty  to 
him.  But  her  phrase,  "it  would  be  a  great  thing  for 
our  side,"  kept  popping  up  in  his  mind.  He  found 
himself  considering  ways  and  means  of  approaching 
the  Town  Council.  True  to  his  Irish  Blood,  "politics" 
was  his  natural  element.  The  head  of  the  Council  was 
the  Mayor  of  the  town.  The  local  election  took  place 
in  the  fall.  The  vote  of  the  factory  district  was  a  very 
big  asset  in  a  re-election.  These  facts  Patsy  turned 
over  in  his  mind. 

Just  to  try  out  the  possibilities  of  the  scheme,  he 
brought  up  the  subject  of  a  school  in  Grady's  saloon 
one  night. 

"Aw,  shut  up,  Patsy.  Has  the  wimmen  been  after 
you,  too?" 

"They  have  not,"  he  defended  quickly.  "  'Tis  me 
own  brain  that's  been  after  me.  Why  is  it  we've  got 
no  school  nearer  than  Third  Street?  'Tis  because 
we're  too  down-spirited  to  demand  our  rights.  A  pub- 


THE  THRESHOLD  99 

lie  school  is  our  rights;  now,  why  don't  we  git  one  fer 
our  kids?" 

"How  many  kids  you  got,  Patsy?"  jeered  Aron 
Kovlatski. 

"If  I  had  seven,  like  you  got,  Aron,  I  wouldn't  be 
lettin'  the  capitalists  squeeze  the  life  out  of  'em." 

"Aw — what  ye  givin'  us?" 

"  'Tis  nothin'  to  me,  if  you  fellows  can't  see  yet  that 
education  is  the  only  way  ye'll  ever  get  even  wit'  'em. 
We're  payin'  fer  public  schools,  an'  we  ain't  gittin'  um. 
Is  that  a  square  deal  or  ain't  ut?" 

"They  ain't  goin'  to  build  no  schoolhouse  because 
we  tell  'em  to,  Pat." 

"Ain't  they?  If  you  had  some  education,  so's  your 
brain  'ud  work,  Jim,  ye'd  know  that  Ben  Card  wants 
our  votes  to  re-elect  him." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  a  school?" 

"It's  got  all  to  do,  ye  nut !  If  a  gang  of  us  goes  to 
the  next  Town  Council  meeting,  as  we  gotta  right  to  do, 
an'  tells  Ben  Card  that  if  we  get  a  schoolhouse  in  the 
fall  in  this  district,  we  vote  for  him,  an'  if  we  don't  git 
a  school  we  don't  vote  for  him,  there'll  be  somethin' 
doin'." 

They  all  laughed.  It  seemed  to  be  a  good  joke  to 
play  on  Ben  Card. 

"Go  to  it,  Patsy!"  urged  one  of  them. 

"You  tell  'em  the  plot,  will  ye,  Patsy?" 

"I'll  tell  it  to  'em  all  right — if  ye'll  get  a  gang  to  go 
down  wit'  me.  We  might  git  up  a  good  foight, 
mebbe,"  he  added,  happily. 

The  idea  took  hold.  The  promise  of  trouble  was  an 
inducement — anything  to  break  the  monotony.  Patsy 
found  himself  possessed  over  night  of  a  new  following 
which  was  quickly  dubbed,  "Patsy's  army." 


ioo  THE  THRESHOLD 

How  they  marched  in,  a  hundred  strong  upon  the 
slumbrous  town  meeting,  is  history  in  Farwell.  How 
Patsy  made  a  speech,  ending  up  with  these  words: 

"We're  a  peaceful,  law-abidin'  community  in  the  fac- 
tory district;  enjyin'  all  the  privileges  of  our  free  coun- 
try, such  as  foine  streets,  an'  water  works  that  works 
now  an'  thin,  on  alternate  Thursdays;  our  parks  an' 
churches  in  the  district  would  be  a  pride  to  any  place, 
but  phwat  we  dropped  in  to  call  yer  attention  to,  is  that 
with  a  population  of  432  children,  under  factory  age, 
we've  no  public  school  fer  thim  to  go  to,  where  they 
can  learn  to  be  mayors  or  councillors.  If  ye  cud  be 
a-remedyin'  this  little  oversight  by  September,  Mr. 
Chairman,  we'd  be  willin'  to  let  things  be  as  they  are — 
but  otherwise  we'll  be  lookin'  fer  a  more  public  spirited 
candydate  fer  Mayor." 

The  excitement  caused  by  this  speech,  punctuated  by 
laughter  and  applause  from  his  army,  was  undeniable. 
The  Chairman  attempted  to  call  attention  to  the  delay 
necessary  to  provide  a  building,  but  Patsy  suggested  the 
use  of  the  long  vacant  Union  Church  building,  and 
after  considerable  argument  the  meeting  adjourned 
with  the  promise  of  the  Council  to  consider  the  idea. 
Patsy  was  appointed  on  a  committee  to  investigate  and 
report  to  the  next  monthly  meeting. 

The  boys  of  "the  army"  led  him  triumphantly  off  to 
Grady's  to  drink  his  health  and  laugh  over  the  dismay 
on  Ben  Card's  face,  during  Patsy's  remarks. 

"The  kids'll  get  their  school  all  right.  We'll  call  it 
the  'Patsy  Rafferty' !"  cried  Klovatski. 

Patsy  refused  the  opportunity  to  get  drunk  in  cele- 
bration. He  walked  home  by  himself,  elated  and 
happy.  He  wondered  what  that  girl  from  the  Hall 
would  say  about  it?  Then  he  laughed  up  at  the  stars. 


THE  THRESHOLD  101 

Patsy  Rafferty  on  the  Mayor's  Committee,  an  impor- 
tant and  responsible  citizen!  The  idea  amused  him 
greatly.  Then  the  boy  in  him  cropped  out,  and  he 
added  joyously. 

"Gee !     It'll  make  Larsen  sore !" 

"Is  that  you,  Patsy?"  whispered  his  mother  as  he  tip- 
toed in. 

"Yep." 

"Did  ye  go  to  the  meetin'?" 

"I  did." 

"What  did  ye  do?" 

"Give  'em  some  of  my  lip !"  he  teased  her. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  days  ran  by  so  swiftly  and  happily  for 
Joan  that  she  scarcely  noted  their  going  and 
coming.  The  common  anxiety  they  had 
shared  on  the  occasion  of  the  picnic  had  brought  Greg- 
ory into  the  friendly  triumvirate.  They  were  all 
friends  now,  on  a  plane  of  comfortable  give  and  take. 
If  Dick's  devotion  showed  signs  now  and  then  of  be- 
coming too  personal,  Joan  was  clever  enough  to  get  it 
back  into  the  key  where  she  felt  it  belonged.  It  was  no 
part  of  her  plan  to  let  the  boy  fall  in  love  with  her. 

Gregory  saw  the  danger,  too,  and  watched  her 
manoeuvreing  with  interest  and  some  amusement.  He 
thought  it  might  be  very  good  for  Dick  to  fall  in  love 
with  her,  but  evidently  she  did  not  intend  to  allow  that. 
He  entirely  forgot  that  one  of  his  strictest  requirements 
of  Miss  Earl  was  that  the  mistress  of  Farwell  Hall 
must  not  be  alluring  to  Dick.  However  he  had  forgot- 
ten most  of  the  qualities  demanded  of  Miss  Earl's  can- 
didate. 

The  autumn  brought  long  hazy  days  when  the  three 
of  them  motored  far  over  the  countryside — sometimes 
for  two  or  three  days.  They  took  long  rides  on  their 
horses,  or  Gregory  refereed  their  tennis  games.  They 
were  well  matched  and  good  to  watch,  in  their  fierce 
fights.  Joan  gave  Dick  real  battle  and  he  lived  in 
daily  fear  that  she  would  beat  him.  If  Gregory  so 
much  as  veered  toward  Joan's  advantage,  in  a  decision, 
they  both  fell  upon  him. 

102 


THE  THRESHOLD  103 

"A  fair  field  and  no  favour  here,"  Joan  would  shout 
at  him. 

Both  men  found  her  sensible,  good  tempered  and 
companionable.  They  grew  to  take  her  for  granted, 
in  the  comfortable  way  of  men.  As  for  Joan,  at  peace 
with  herself  in  regard  to  her  real  work,  as  she  still 
called  it,  sure  that  her  best  service  would  come  in  the 
education  of  Dick,  she  had  come  into  a  belated  girl- 
hood, freed  of  anxiety,  of  struggle.  For  these  happy, 
luxurious  months,  she  played  with  Dick  for  companion, 
like  a  light-hearted  girl. 

The  ease  and  the  outdoor  life  gave  her  such  health 
as  she  had  never  known  before.  It  expressed  itself  in 
pink  cheeks  and  shining  eyes,  as  well  as  in  unflagging 
good  spirits.  Her  laugh  was  everywhere.  Just  as 
her  body  and  spirit  were  being  fed,  so  now  was  that 
power  in  her,  which  for  lack  of  a  better  word  we  call 
magnetism,  growing  stronger  and  more  impelling. 
Both  men  felt  it — Gregory  gave  voice  to  it  on  a  day 
when  he  came  upon  her  swinging  up  the  road  by  her- 
self, singing  aloud.  He  walked  his  horse  up  behind  on 
the  grass,  not  to  interrupt  and  when  srhe  turned  to  him 
and  laughed: — 

"Is  that  horse  rubber-shod?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  interrupt  the  concert,"  he  replied. 

"You  can't  say  I  sing  around  the  house  and  spoil 
things  for  you — I  do  all  my  carolling  out  on  the  road." 

"Why  don't  you  sing  at  home?  .  .  .  I — we'd  like 
it." 

"Dick  heard  me  once.  He  advised  me  not  to  take 
it  up  as  a  career." 

"The  young  cub!" 

"I  love  his  frankness." 

He  dismounted  and  walked  along  beside  her. 


io4  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Why  do  you  walk  on  this  dusty  road?" 

"I've  been  to  the  village." 

"Why  didn't  you  ride — or  take  a  motor?" 

"Thought  it  would  do  me  good  to  walk.  I'm  get- 
ting such  habits  as  will  be  the  ruination  of  me.  Mo- 
tors and  horses  for  the  likes  of  me  1" 

"I  am  sure  they  were  made  for  the  likes  of  you. 
Want  a  ride?" 

She  considered  a  moment — then  nodded,  and  was  up 
in  the  saddle,  sitting  sideways,  before  he  could  offer  a 
a  hand  to  mount  her. 

"You're  a  disconcertingly  independent  young  per- 
son," he  remarked,  leading  the  horse  along  slowly,  let- 
ting him  nibble  a  branch  now  and  then. 

"Am  I ?     Do  you  like  them  helpless?" 

"Them?" 

-Us—females—" 

"Even  the  helpless  ones  aren't — are  they?" 

She  smiled  at  his  puzzled  face. 

"Women,  even  stupid  ones,  always  seem  to  know  just 
what  it  is  they  want,  and  they  go  after  it.  Men  are  so 
apt  to  drift — I  can't  imagine  you  drifting." 

"But  I've  known  since  I  was  eight  years  old,  what  it 
was  I  had  to  do.  How  could  I  drift,  when  there  was 
so  little  time?" 

"There  you  are !  My  contention  is  that  even  the 
women  who  only  want  husbands,  don't  drift  husband- 
wards — they  rapidly  and  determinedly  paddle  in  that 
direction." 

"Why  not — it's  the  only  way  to  get  what  you  want." 

"Suppose  you  don't  want  to  get  anything,  except  the 
essence  of  joy  out  of  every  day?" 

"You  have  to  be  rich  and  lazy,  to  get  that." 


THE  THRESHOLD  105 

He  laughed  and  led  the  horse  down  >a  path  into  the 
woods. 

"Do  you  know  how  changed  you  are?"  he  inquired* 
as  the  horse  stopped  to  nibble  grass. 

"Am  I  ?"  anxiously. 

He  nodded. 

"How?" 

"Well — when  you  came  you  were  a  determined,  ef- 
ficient, rather  fierce  young  woman — but  now  you  are  so 
comfortable — on  occasions  you  are  so  charming!" 

Her  laughter  startled  the  horse,  who  lifted  his  head 
and  walked  on. 

"Men  are  such  precious  things!"  was  her  disconcert- 
ing reply. 

He  jerked  the  bridle  and  halted  the  march. 

"Precious?"  he  objected. 

"Yes — precious — gullible — naif!  I'm  revolutioniz- 
ing you  all  the  time,  only  now  I've  learned  how  to  do  it, 
without  making  so  much  noise.  That  is  what  life  at 
the  Hall  has  taught  me.  There  is  no  real  value  in 
noise." 

"Are  you  revolutionizing  me?"  he  inquired — then 
after  a  contemplative  pause — "I  wonder?" 

They  sauntered  along  slowly  in  silence  for  a  bit, 
while  Gregory  digested  that  remark. 

"I'll  grant  you're  making  a  new  man  of  Dick;  I  admit 
the  system  you've  installed  in  the  house,  but  I  didn't 
know  you  had  turned  your  attention  to  me  yet.  I'd 
been  hoping  you  would." 

"It's  what  you  might  call  my  indirect  attention.  It's 
like  indirect  influence." 

"At  least  you  do  not  despise  my  uselessness  so 
forcibly  as  you  did  at  first." 


io6  THE  THRESHOLD 

She  turned  her  frank  gaze  on  him,  her  face  full  of 
concern. 

"What  an  abomination  I  must  have  seemed  to  you ! 
Why  didn't  you  send  me  packing?" 

"I  don't  know  why  I  didn't,"  he  replied. 

"I've  grown  to  understand  your  point  of  view  better, 
now  that  I've  lived  your  kind  of  life.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve it  would  settle  every  fight  in  the  world,  if  every 
fellow  could  live  the  other  fellow's  kind  of  life  for  a 
while?" 

"It  would  be  almost  more  painful  than  the  ills  it  was 
meant  to  cure,"  he  said,  with  a  rueful  face. 

"If  this  were  not  such  a  perfect  day  and  I  were  not 
so  content,  I  would  wish  you  were  not  so  stand-pat," 
she  mused  aloud. 

It  was  after  that  talk  that  Gregory  began  to  show 
interest  in  Dick's  education.  He  read  some  of  the 
books  that  Joan  had  provided,  and  Dick  left  lying 
about.  There  was  nothing  feminine  in  the  fare  she 
fed  him — nor  did  she  let  him  off  when  he  slacked,  as  his 
tutors  always  had  done.  But  the  astounding  thing  was 
that  for  the  most  part  he  did  not  slack. 

When  Gregory  suggested  a  two  weeks'  motor  trip 
through  the  Berkshires,  they  both  assured  him  that  they 
could  not  spare  the  time. 

"But  you  aren't  going  to  enter  him  for  exams  until 
spring,  are  you?"  he  inquired  of  the  teacher. 

"No,  but  as  he  has  never  learned  anything,  we  have 
about  ten  years'  work  to  do  in  that  time.  It  is  almost 
winter  now — six  months  is  only  a  minute." 

"Now  aren't  you  sorry  you  never  would  study, 
Dick?" 

"No — why  should  I  waste  all  that  time,  when  she 
can  put  me  through  it  in  a  year?"  grinned  the  boy. 


THE  THRESHOLD  107 

"It's  marvellous  how  you  keep  him  at  it!" 

"I  don't  keep  him  at  it.  It's  his  responsibility,  not 
mine.  I  only  work  when  he  wants  to — " 

"That  true,  Dick?" 

"Sure — she's  put  it  all  up  to  me,"  sighed  the  student. 

"It's  worked  out  very  well.  He  knows  what  he  has 
to  do — he  is  old  enough  to  concentrate,  he  has  a  good 
mind,  and  he  can  go  ahead  very  fast.  He  may  be  right 
about  those  years  when  he  wasted  time.  It  may  have 
been  a  good  thing." 

"Isn't  she  great?"  Dick  appealed  to  his  uncle. 
"That's  the  way  she  gets  me  to  grind  on,  like  this.  She 
may  get  me  in  with  honours.  Probably  kill  those  old 
entrance  deans  with  the  shock  of  a  Farwell  entering 
with  honours!" 

"Have  you  an  antidote  for  his  modesty,  Miss  Bab- 
cock?" 

"He  has  six  months  of  good  hard  work  to  his 
credit,"  she  defended  him.  "Six  more  and  we'll  be 
getting  somewhere." 

"Six  months  and  I'll  be  one  of  the  natural  leaders  of 
thought  in  America — "  remarked  Dick  sweetly. 

"Instead  of  the  world  record-beater  for  ignorance  at 
seventeen,"  amended  Joan. 

So  things  went  on  smoothly  enough  at  the  Hall,  but 
in  the  village  there  was  no  such  harmony.  Joan's 
casual  word  to  Patsy  Rafferty  about  the  schoolhouse 
had  brought  after  it  a  comet's  tail  of  consequences. 

The  committee  which  the  Mayor  had  appointed, 
with  Patsy  as  a  member,  had  reported  fully  and  favour- 
ably on  the  possibilities  of  getting  Union  Church  ready 
for  a  schoolhouse  in  the  fall.  They  gave  an  estimate 
of  the  expense  of  repairs,  and  the  salary  of  a  teacher. 

But  after  the  report  was  turned  in,  nothing  hap- 


io8  THE  THRESHOLD 

pened.  Whenever  Patsy  asked  for  the  Mayor's  inten- 
tion, in  private  conversation,  or  whenever  he  demanded 
it,  in  meetings  of  the  Town  Council,  he  was  called  out 
of  order  or  silenced  in  some  summary  manner.  The 
Town  Council  meetings  began  to  be  exciting.  The  fac- 
tory men  came  in  larger  numbers  and  grew  more  un- 
ruly. Finally  one  night  things  came  to  a  climax,  and 
there  was  a  general  mix-up.  At  the  next  meeting  the 
Mayor  ordered  the  factory  men  excluded — whereupon 
they  overran  the  guards  at  doors  and  windows  and 
broke  up  the  meeting. 

Patsy  was  not  satisfied  with  these  proceedings.  He 
saw  that  it  was  only  leading  to  jail  for  his  men,  and 
in  no  way  furthering  their  object.  So  after  much 
thought  on  his  part  and  much  discussion  among  his 
fellows,  they  decided  to  go  in  a  body  and  offer  to  back 
the  Republican  nominee  for  Mayor,  if  he  would  give 
them  a  promise  in  writing  that  they  should  have  the 
schoolhouse  subsequent  to  his  election.  Patsy  and  a 
committee  visited  him,  and  after  consultation  with  his 
managers,  he  took  up  their  offer.  Patsy's  committee 
was  to  organize  the  factory  men  into  a  solid  vote. 

Once  this  news  got  abroad,  Mayor  Ben  Card  woke 
up.  He  sent  for  Patsy,  but  Patsy  did  not  come. 
Then  he  went  to  see  the  Irishman,  in  his  own  bailiwick. 
He  assumed  an  injured  air.  What  was  this  news  he 
heard  of  the  factory  boys  supporting  the  opposition 
candidate? 

"You  had  your  chance  an'  you  trew  it  away,"  replied 
Patsy. 

"You  sold  out — after  me  puttin'  ye  on  that  commit- 
tee?" demanded  the  Mayor. 

"I  told  ye  the  price  av  our  votes  was  the  schoolhouse. 


THE  THRESHOLD  109 

When  we  found  you  wouldn't  pay  it,  we  got  a  candidate 
that  would.  That's  all." 

"But,  Patsy,  I  was  only  makin'  up  me  mind — " 

"Ye  had  two  months  to  make  up  yer  moind.  Ye 
can't  put  over  annything  on  us,  ye  know,  Ben — we  ain't 
fools." 

"What'll  ye  take  to  get  the  boys  back  into  line  fer 
me,  Patsy?"  Ben  said  softly. 

"How  would  ten  thousand  dollars  suit  ye?"  grinned 
the  boy. 

"Quit  yer  kiddin',  Pat—" 

"Quit  it  yerself,  Ben.  We're  through  with  you  an' 
your  gang.  It's  time  we  had  a  change  in  Farwell." 

"Ye  durty  black  Irish  whelp,  ye !"  roared  the  Mayor. 
"You  get  in  my  way  an'  I'll  break  you!" 

Patsy  laughed,  and  the  Mayor  saw  red. 

"Be  careful,  Ben — you're  liable  to  bust!"  he  warned. 

"I'll  bust  you!"  shouted  Ben. 

"No,  ye  won't — ye  can't  do  it,  an'  ye  know  it,  ye  great 
big  noise  I  Ye'd  better  make  frinds  with  me,  Ben,  be- 
cause the  byes  will  do  loike  I  tell  'em — because  why? — 
because  I  got  some  brains.  That's  why  I  got  the  laugh 
on  you,  Ben,  because  your  coco's  empty!  Go  'way 
now,  an'  lave  me  think!" 

The  big  man  rose  to  go.  He  was  shaking  with  fury. 
He  started  to  speak,  but  the  boy's  grin  fairly  choked 
him.  This  was  his  parting  shot: 

"I'll  get  you,  Patsy,  and  don't  ye  fergit  ut!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JOAN  came  into  Mr.  Farwell's  study,  and  laid  a 
ledger  open  before  him  on  the  desk  at  which 
he  sat. 

"Here  are  the  accounts  for  the  last  month,  Mr.  Far- 
well.  Will  you  look  them  over?" 

"Thank  you.     Have  you  looked  them  over?" 

"Naturally.     I  entered  them." 

"Then  I  do  not  need  to  bother  with  them." 

He  glanced  at  the  figures. 

"You  reduce  the  amount  every  month,  don't  you?" 

"We're  getting  the  departments  systematized — 
that's  all." 

"Even  Mrs.  Craddock?" 

"No — I  must  omit  Mrs.  Craddock.  Her  mind  re- 
sists system  as  a  hard  rubber  ball  resists  a  dent,"  Joan 
answered  seriously. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  Craddock  will  put  poison  in  your 
tea  ?"  he  mildly  suggested. 

"You  should  watch  me  at  table.  I  never  eat  any- 
thing which  could  possibly  have  been  prepared  by  Crad- 
dock," she  smiled. 

"Is  she  disagreeable  to  you?" 

"Oh,  no,  she  doesn't  like  me — but  it  isn't  necessary 
that  she  should." 

"Do  you  enjoy  all  this  detail?"  he  asked  her. 

"No,  I  hate  detail — but  I  like  organizing  things." 

"And  people?" 

no 


THE  THRESHOLD  in 

"And  people.  Do  you  remember  my  telling  you 
that  I  wanted  to  take  Dick  over  the  factories  at  Far- 
well?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  give  me  a  card  of  admission  to  the  proper 
person?" 

"Certainly." 

He  wrote  the  card  and  gave  it  to  her. 

"Thank  you." 

"You  think  Dick's  judgment  is  of  value,  on  con- 
ditions in  Farwell?  Or  is  it  his  emotions  you  intend  to 
appeal  to?"  he  inquired  gravely. 

"I've  tried  to  give  him  some  background  of  judg- 
ment, in  the  few  months  I've  had  with  him.  I've  never 
said  one  passionate  word  to  array  him  on  my  side — 
I've  been  absolutely  square  with  him,"  she  answered. 

"I  am  sure  of  that.  I  only  want  to  remind  you  that 
there  is  danger  of  rousing  ignorance  and  misdirected 
enthusiasm.  Dick  has  no  word  to  say  as  to  the  man- 
agement in  Farwell,  until  he  is  of  age." 

"I  understand  that.  I  don't  want  him  to  interfere  or 
become  a  nuisance  about  it,  I  only  want  him  to  see 
things  as  they  are,  to  meet  the  men  and  women  who 
work  for  him,  and  hear  their  point  of  view.  Is  that 
too  much,  do  you  think?" 

"I've  no  desire  to  hamper  Dick,  you  understand.  I 
am  only  warning  you  that  he  is  passionate  and  head- 
strong— that  you  may  start  something  you  can  not 
stop." 

"Thank  you.     I  take  the  responsibility." 

The  conversation  apparently  ended  there,  but  Joan 
felt  that  it  was  not  finished  until  late  in  the  evening  of 
that  day.  She  was  finishing  a  letter  in  her  room,  when 
Dick's  shout  from  the  terrace  called  her  to  the  window. 


ii2  THE  THRESHOLD 

It  was  a  clear  autumn  moonlight  night,  and  the  two 
men  were  pacing  up  and  down. 

"Come  out,  it's  wonderful,"  Dick  urged. 

"All  right — be  down  in  a  minute,"  she  answered. 
She  picked  up  her  white  sweater  and  slipped  it  on  over 
her  white  dress.  As  she  came  across  the  flagged  ex- 
panse, Dick  exclaimed, 

"She  looks  like  Queen  Mab,  doesn't  she,  Uncle 
Gregory?" 

The  elder  man  smiled. 

"Slid  down  on  a  moonbeam,  eh,  Poet?"  he  teased 
the  boy. 

"A  trifle  insecure  for  my  weight,"  laughed  Joan. 

"You  wasted  a  lot  of  time  indoors,"  complained 
Dick. 

"I  had  a  letter  to  write,  Dick." 

"You  always  have  to  do  something.  I  wouldn't 
have  your  conscience  for  anything  on  earth." 

"Nor  I  yours,  my  child.  I  conceive  your  conscience 
to  be  a  flabby  little  affair,  dying  of  fatty  degeneration," 
she  retorted. 

Gregory  chuckled  at  Dick's  "Ouch!" 

"I  bet  yours  is  a  long-legged,  lean  nag  of  a  thing, 
worked  to  the  limit.  What  do  you  suppose  Uncle 
Greg's  looks  like?"  Dick  continued. 

"A  dimple  1"  said  Joan  instantly,  rewarded  by  their 
shout  of  amusement. 

"She  thinks  we're  awful  slackers,  you  know,  Uncle 
Greg." 

"Does  she?" 

"If  I  don't  look  out,  she'll  make  a  working  man  of 
me.  What  do  you  suppose  she's  going  to  do  with  me 
tomorrow?" 

"My  imagination  fails  me." 


THE  THRESHOLD  113 

"Take  me  over  our  factories  in  Farwell,  and  intro- 
duce me  properly  to  our  employes !" 

"H-m!" 

"Better  come  along." 

"No,  thanks." 

"The  smells  would  kill  you.  Uncle  Greg  is  death 
on  smells.  He  always  makes  Jergens  shoot  through 
Farwell—-" 

"Don't  make  my  case  out  worse  than  necessary,  Boy. 
Miss  Babcock  despises  my  way  of  life  sufficiently  as 
it  is." 

Joan  turned  toward  him  quickly,  her  eyes  shining. 

"Indeed — indeed,  I  don't  despise  it.  Everybody 
ought  to  be  able  to  live  their  own  way,"  she  said.  "I 
shouldn't  presume  to  criticize  your  way." 

"I  never  thought  much  about  it,  Uncle  Greg,  until  I 
began  to  read  all  these  books  and  things.  Do  you 
know  about  modern  factory  equipment — about  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  short  day  and  the  increased  efficiency  of 
the  workman  who  has  decent  conditions  of  living?"  in- 
quired Dick. 

Gregory  stared  at  his  nephew,  blew  slow  rings  of 
smoke  into  the  air  above  him,  before  he  answered. 

"No,  I  do  not  know  about  these  things — the  human 
problems  have  never  interested  me  especially,  you  see. 
I  have  no  place  in  the  world  in  which  I  find  myself — a 
world  of  brutality,  of  greed,  and  of  materialism.  I 
conceive  all  its  standards  to  be  false.  I  will  not  belong 
to  a  world  which  can  only  express  itself  through  money 
and  power  and  publicity.  What  place  has  beauty  in 
such  a  scheme  of  things  ?  Look  at  the  art  of  the  times 
— at  the  music — at  the  poetry!  Brutalized — deca- 
dent! I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  since  I  cannot 
change  it.  Don't  tell  me  I  can  do  my  part,"  he  ob- 


ii4  THE  THRESHOLD 

jected,  as  Joan  exclaimed — "one  individual — a  thou- 
sand individuals  can  do  nothing — the  whole  fabric  of 
life  must  be  changed  before  existence  can  be  endurable 
on  this  planet." 

He  stopped  a  second  and  there  was  silence.  "I  pre- 
fer to  have  my  life  like  this  night — calm,  beautiful,  re- 
mote. The  world  is  shut  out." 

"But  it  cannot  be  like  that — there  are  many  stormy 
nights.  What  do  you  do  then?"  asked  Joan. 

"I  go  inside,  draw  down  the  blinds  and  remember 
the  nights  like  this." 

They  all  looked  about  at  the  white  radiance — 
breathed  in  the  autumn  smell  of  burning  leaves  and  lis- 
tened to  the  night  sounds.  Dick  stirred  uneasily. 

"I  think  I'd  rather  jump  in,  and  smash  things  up  and 
get  'em  fixed  to  suit  me  better,"  he  said  earnestly. 

Farwell  looked  at  Joan. 

"You  have  an  apt  pupil !  Smash  away,  Dick,  if 
you  must,  but  remember  that  you'll  do  no  good — that 
it  will  be  unchanged,  in  spite  of  you — unless  you  live  to 
see  a  new  age." 

"He  is  the  new  age — don't  you  see?"  cried  Joan. 
"We're  all  called  to  account  some  time  for  our  steward- 
ship— we  can't  escape  by  saying  we're  born  out  of  our 
time." 

"You  think  the  individual  counts,  then?"  inquired 
Farwell. 

"I  think  if  every  man  helped  one  other  man  who 
needed  him,  we  could  make  a  new  world." 

"But  if  the  man  who  was  helped  was  no  good — had 
always  to  be  carried — what  then?  Better  to  let  the 
present  system  crush  him  out,  isn't  it?" 

"Certainly  not.  It's  like  saying  don't  bother  to  im- 
prove prisons  because  some  of  the  men  are  hopeless 


THE  THRESHOLD  115 

criminals.  How  can  you  say — or  how  can  I  say,  what 
a  world  run  on  the  principle  of  brotherly  love  could  do 
to  humanity?" 

"It  seems  such  a  dream  to  me  that  I  would  not  think 
of  saying  what  it  might  do,"  remarked  Gregory. 

"It  isn't  such  a  dream — the  germ  of  it  is  in  the  world 
now — Dick  and  I  may  help  with  it." 

"But  how  can  you  bring  about  brotherly  love  by  con- 
tention and  strikes  and  bad  feeling  between  employers 
and  labour?  I  think  you  said  that  might  be  neces- 
sary," Farwell  remarked. 

"I  admit  that's  a  blunt  weapon,  but  the  soldier  must 
fight  with  what  he  finds  at  hand.  Sometimes  a  thing  is 
justified  merely  because  it  focuses  attention  upon  a 
wrong.  That's  what  a  strike  does.  It  isn't  my  way — 
but  it  is  one  way." 

"What  is  your  way?"  asked  Dick. 

"I'd  appeal  to  the  sense  of  fairness  and  justice  and 
decency  of  the  man  who  has  the  power.  I'd  show  him 
it  was  better  business  to  give  labour  a  fair  deal  and 
decent  conditions.  Isn't  it  better  to  rouse  his  highest 
instincts,  to  do  the  square  thing,  than  to  rouse  labour's 
worst  instinct  to  fight  and  destroy,  in  order  to  get  its 
rights?" 

"But  why  should  all  the  virtues  be  assumed  by  the 
capitalist?"  inquired  Farwell. 

"Because  he  has  the  ultimate  power  to  solve  the 
whole  situation.  He  will  get  back  what  he  gives,  in 
friendliness,  instead  of  hatred,  in  good  service,  instead 
of  bad.  It  isn't  a  theory,  Mr.  Farwell,  it's  a  fact, 
proved  over  and  over  again  in  this  country.  Look  at 
the  results  in  the  factories  of  Henry  Ford,  the  National 
Biscuit  Co.,  The  National  Cash  Register  Co.,  Filene's 
Dry  Goods  Store  in  Boston,  in  the  many  co-operative 


n6  THE  THRESHOLD 

experiments  all  over  the  United  States.  It's  just  com- 
mon sense." 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  those  places,"  Dick  said. 

"Dick,  it  is  four  years  before  you  can  revolutionize 
the  works  down  in  Farwell,"  smiled  his  uncle. 

"I  can  get  all  ready,  so  the  minute  I  get  my  innings 
I  can  do  something,"  replied  Richard. 

"The  wise  young  Judge — a  Daniel  come  to  Judg- 
ment— "  Gregory  exclaimed. 

"Dick,  if  every  boy  in  the  world  could  say  tonight 
what  you  just  said,  the  new  world  would  be  begun," 
Joan  said,  so  seriously  and  tenderly  that  the  lad's 
whole  being  answered  her. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  get  your  new  world  for  you,  I 
would!" 

"Adam  was  the  first  man,  Dick,  who  got  a  new  world 
for  a  lady." 

"Oh,  Adam!"  exploded  Dick— "he  was  a  fool!" 

They  all  laughed,  and  Gregory  added,  "O  youth — 
youth — thy  god-like  folly !" 

"No — no — thy  God-given  valour!"  said  Joan. 

Gregory  turned  his  face  toward  her  again. 

"I  withdraw  in  favour  of  your  God !"  he  observed. 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "I'm  going  to  bed  and  get  a  good 
night.  I  can't  understand  half  you  two  say.  I've  got 
to  get  my  rest,  for  maybe  I'm  going  to  be  a  loving  cap- 
italist after  tomorrow." 

"Amen,"  Joan  exclaimed. 

The  boy  said  his  goodnight  and  left  them. 

"Honourable  Enemy,  the  first  honours  in  the  fight 
are  yours,  I  should  say,"  Gregory  remarked. 

"Hear  the  truth — for  the  truth  shall  set  men  free!" 
was  her  answer. 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace  for  half  an 


THE  THRESHOLD  117 

hour  in  silence,  enjoying  the  night  with  its  enchantment. 
Now  and  then  Gregory  glanced  at  the  quiet  figure  be- 
side him,  her  face  lifted  to  the  stars,  her  attention  rapt, 
"on  some  diviner  thought  intent."  He  made  note  of 
her  charm,  when  she  was  at  peace  and  s'lent. 


CHAPTER  XV 

*4^V~1T  THAT  time  does  your  'Seeing-Farwell'  ex- 

\/\/  pedition  start?"  inquired  Gregory  at 
breakfast. 

"About  ten,  doesn't  it,  Miss  Babcock?  Are  you 
coming  along,  Uncle  Greg?" 

"No,  my  child,  I'm  not.  It  is  a  good  day  to  spend 
indoors  with  an  open  fire,  to  my  thinking.  You  won't 
like  it,  Dick.  There's  no  romance  in  Farwell." 

"I'm  not  looking  for  romance,"  Dick  burst  out  indig- 
nantly. "What  do  you  take  me  for — a  sentimental 
puppy?" 

Gregory  smiled  and  the  conversation  ended.  But 
when  they  set  forth  at  the  appointed  hour  he  called 
them  a  "Good  luck,  Samaritans,"  from  his  corner  by 
the  fire. 

It  was  a  bleak  grey  day,  with  the  first  nip  of  winter 
in  the  air.  The  dead  leaves  blew  and  rustled,  in  whirls 
of  dust.  The  motor  ran  swiftly  but  the  ride  seemed 
longer  than  usual.  Dick  chatted  along,  but  Joan  had  a 
sense  of  finality  such  as  she  had  known  before  in  her 
life,  when  some  experience  was  over  and  done  with. 
Summer,  this  perfect  summer  of  all  summers,  was  dead. 
Did  Gregory  prophesy  truly  that  Dick's  initiation  might 
start  something  they  none  of  them  could  stop?  She 
wished  she  had  his  philosophy  of  drifting. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  Saunders,  the  head  superin- 
tendent at  the  works?"  Dick  was  asking.  "He  seems 

118 


THE  THRESHOLD  119 

to  me  a  kind  of  human  machine.  He's  got  a  shut- 
up  face." 

"I  know  he  isn't  very  well  liked  by  the  factory 
hands." 

"Do  you  know  them — the  hands,  I  mean?" 

"Yes — a  good  many  of  them.  I  want  you  to  know 
them — you'll  like  them.  There's  a  fellow  named 
Patsy  Rafferty,  whom  you  are  sure  to  like.  He's  about 
your  age  and  rather  like  you,  in  some  ways." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"He's  a  carder,  and  he  supports  his  mother  and  six 
or  seven  children.  But  he's  what  I  call  a  natural 
leader.  He's  leading  a  fight  against  the  Mayor  just 
now,  and  what  they're  pleased  to  call  the  School  Com- 
mittee, to  get  a  public  school  for  the  factory  kids." 

"Haven't  they  got  a  school?"  Dick  demanded. 

"No." 

"But  why  not?" 

"The  workers  have  been  too  busy  to  demand  it,  I 
suppose.  They  can't  understand  yet,  how  valuable 
education  is  to  their  cause.  But  Patsy's  got  them 
started — he'll  get  it  put  through,  I  think." 

"Is  this  where  they  live,  in  these  rotten  shacks?" 

"Yes — this  is  the  Raffertys' — where  all  the  children 
are  out  in  front — we'll  stop  on  our  way  back,"  Joan 
said,  "and  call  on  Mrs.  Rafferty." 

"Does  the  company  own  these  shacks?"  Dick  de- 
manded. 

"Yes.  But  the  agent  won't  keep  them  in  repair,  and 
so  they've  gone  to  pieces  rather.  You'll  see,  when 
you  get  inside,  that  they're  rather  far  gone." 

"Who's  the  agent?" 

"I  don't  remember.     Mrs.  Rafferty  will  tell  you." 

They  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the  main  factory 


120  THE  THRESHOLD 

building.  It  was  the  old  type,  with  wings  added  here 
and  there  without  regard  to  appearances.  Other 
buildings  grouped  about  it,  with  no  apparent  order. 
The  trees  had  been  cut  down,  and  the  grass  was  burned 
up  and  trampled,  so  there  was  no  green  on  which  to 
rest  the  eye. 

Mr.  Saunders  greeted  them  sourly,  in  his  office. 
He  thought  the  inspection  was  the  whim  of  a  boy,  who 
had  no  business  to  take  up  his  time.  He  wasted  none 
of  it  upon  social  amenities,  but  led  the  way  out  at  once. 

Dick's  impression  from  this  time  on  was  blurred  and 
indistinct.  He  was  conscious  first  of  noise,  grind- 
ing,  crushing,  unescapable  noise.  Monster  machines 
crowded  together  like  elephants  in  a  herd — they  bel- 
lowed and  squeaked  and  trumpeted.  The  men  who 
served  them  and  fed  them  went  quickly  among  them, 
at  their  work  of  tending.  The  room  was  artificially 
lighted  by  great  high-powered  arc-lamps  which  added 
a  piercing  light  to  the  nerve  strain.  There  was  the 
sense  of  crowding,  of  men  and  machines  shouldering 
each  other  in  too  close  quarters.  There  was  a  fine  dust 
in  the  air  that  made  you  cough.  There  were  some 
places  where  only  men  worked,  some  where  only 
women  fed  the  open  maws.  Dick,  on  this  first  visit, 
got  no  sense  of  them  as  individuals.  They  were  just 
human  machines,  feeding  the  others. 

He  heard  Joan  asking  Saunders  questions,  some  of 
them  evidently  irritating  to  him,  for  he  answered 
brusquely.  In  one  of  the  buildings,  she  asked  to  see  the 
wash-rooms  provided  for  the  girls  and  suggested  that 
Dick  look  at  the  men's.  Saunders  said  that  the  em- 
ployes didn't  like  to  have  visitors  taken  into  those 
rooms,  which  were  reserved  for  their  use — but  Joan 
was  insistent  that  Mr.  Farwell  had  said  they  might  see 


THE  THRESHOLD  121 

everything.  So  Saunders  complied.  When  she  met 
Dick  and  their  guide  after  her  brief  review  of  the  lava- 
tory for  girls,  she  saw  that  Dick's  experience  had  been 
as  painful  as  hers.  She  asked  Saunders  if  there  was 
any  place  in  any  of  the  buildings  where  the  employes 
could  gather. 

"What  would  they  gather  for?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh,  some  factories  have  lectures  for  the  workers, 
or  meetings  of  heads  of  departments  to  consult  with 
their  people — " 

"Well — heads  of  departments  don't  consult  the 
workers  here.  This  is  a  shop — not  a  club,"  was  his 
answer. 

It  seemed  to  Dick  that  hours  of  distress  had  passed 
before  they  got  back  to  the  crowded  little  hole  Saunders 
called  office.  He  mumbled  a  few  words  of  thanks,  to 
supplement  Joan's  remarks,  and  they  were  out  in  the 
raw,  rubbish-laden  wind  that  swept  about  the  yards. 

Joan  saw  that  Dick  was  used  up — she  had  never  seen 
him  look  like  that.  He  was  perfectly  white.  He 
caught  her  anxious  glance. 

"The  noise  and  those  lights  were  awful!"  he  ex- 
plained. She  nodded.  Jergens  brought  the  car  up 
to  them. 

"Shall  we  go  home — or  do  you  want  to  stop  in  the 
village  and  meet  my  friends?"  she  asked  Dick. 

She  saw  his  look  of  longing  at  the  car — it  meant  es- 
cape. Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  faced  her. 

"Let's  walk  over  to  those  Raffertys.  Jergens,  go  to 
the  station  at  Farwcll,  we'll  pick  you  up  when  we  want 
to  go  back." 

Jergens  promptly  disappeared.  Joan  repressed  the 
desire  to  say  "Good  work!"  to  the  boy.  She  led  the 
way  down  the  dirty  path  that  cut  across  lots  to  the  cot- 


122  THE  THRESHOLD 

tages.  In  a  moment  the  noon  whistles  would  blow, 
and  she  wanted  to  be  at  the  Raffertys'  when  Patsy  came 
home  for  his  dinner. 

"Are  they  always  as  noisy  as  that?"  Dick  asked  her. 

"No — there's  always  noise  in  factories,  of  course, 
but  they  are  making  devices  now  to  cut  it  down.  It 
wears  the  workers  out  so  fast  nervously.  The  new 
type  factory  handles  that  problem  better." 

"And  those  lights — "  he  protested. 

"They  were  bad.  The  new  type  is  nearly  all  win- 
dows, so  they  rarely  need  electricity.  Daylight  is 
cheaper,  in  the  end,  because  that  arc-light  is  bad  on 
eyes  and  nerves." 

"It  got  on  my  nerves,  like  the  devil !" 

As  they  came  to  the  cottages,  women  and  children 
called  out  to  Joan  and  she  gave  them  greetings.  At  the 
Raffertys'  she  was  surrounded  by  the  dirtiest  set  of 
youngsters  imaginable.  They  hung  on  to  Joan  and  put 
their  dirty  paws  on  her  clothes.  Dick  wondered  how 
she  could  bear  it.  In  answer  to  the  uproar  of  greet- 
ings, a  fat,  red-faced  woman  appeared  at  the  door 
and  beamed  on  the  new  comers. 

"Good  mornin'  to  yez,  Miss  Babcock,  an'  to  you, 
Mr.  Norton,  sir,"  she  called. 

"She  knows  me,"  said  Dick,  in  surprise. 

"Naturally,  silly.  They  all  know  you.  We've  been 
over  to  have  a  look  at  the  factories,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  and 
we  want  to  make  a  short  call  on  you  before  we  go  out 
to  the  Hall." 

'Tis  welcome  ye  arr,  to  me  humble  cot,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Rafferty,  leading  the  way  into  the  parlour.  It 
was  a  cold,  damp  place,  with  old  wall  paper,  faded  and 
dirty,  hanging  off  in  strips.  It  was  furnished  with 
rickety  furniture  of  unspeakable  hideousness  and  con- 


THE  THRESHOLD  123 

siderable  age.  Some  of  the  dirty  children  crowded 
in  after  them. 

"We  ain't  got  the  fires  started  yit — it  do  be  a  bit 
chilly,"  said  the  hostess. 

"Take  us  into  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  do.  It's 
warm  in  there  and  so  comfortable." 

"I  couldn't  be  takin'  Mr.  Norton  into  the  kitchen," 
protested  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"Oh,  do— I'd  like  it,"  Dick  exclaimed. 

"Come  along  wid  ye,  thin,"  laughed  the  Irish 
woman  and  led  the  way  back  through  the  uncarpeted 
hall  to  the  kitchen,  which  at  least  was  warm.  It  was 
also  redolent  of  onions,  past  and  present.  There  was 
a  table  with  a  red  table  cloth,  where  Pat  was  to  have  his 
dinner.  There  were  indications  that  some  of  the  Raf- 
fertys  slept  here,  too.  It  needed  paint  and  paper  and 
a  new  floor. 

"How  many  children  have  you,  Mrs.  Rafferty?" 
Dick  inquired,  as  the  number  of  staring  eyes  at  windows 
and  doors  increased. 

"I've  six  of  me  own — the  rist  is  neighbours,"  she 
replied,  driving  them  off. 

"Isn't  this  house  rather  small  for  you?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"Faith  an'  it  is — but  what's  to  be  done  about  it? 
Patsy  is  me  only  bye  at  work  an'  we  can't  pay  a  cint 
more  of  rint,"  she  said  cheerfully. 

Just  then  the  whistle  blew,  and  she  rose  at  once. 

"D'ye  moind  if  I  dish  up  fer  Patsy?  He's  got  his 
job  back  an'  he  don't  want  to  be  docked,  fer  bein'  late." 

"Go  ahead,  Mrs.  Rafferty.  We'll  only  stay  long 
enough  for  Mr.  Norton  to  meet  Patsy.  Come  over 
here,  Dick,  and  watch  them  come  home  for  dinner," 
said  Joan,  leading  him  to  the  door. 


i24  THE  THRESHOLD 

The  procession  seemed  a  long  one — men  and  boys, 
women  and  girls,  swinging  or  hobbling  or  limping 
along  as  the  case  might  be.  Some  of  the  boys  were 
pushing  each  other,  laughing  and  "rough-housing." 
They  called  out  jokes  to  the  girls,  who  answered  shrilly. 
Dick  realized  that  they  were  just  people;  they  were 
being  regurgitated  from  the  mouth  of  the  monster,  to 
get  food  and  strength  for  themselves,  so  they  could  go 
back  and  be  fed  to  it  again. 

"They  seem  a  cheerful  lot,"  he  commented  in  aston- 
ishment. 

Before  Joan  could  answer  Patsy  stumped  in,  and 
stopped  at  the  sight  of  visitors. 

"How  are  you,  Patsy?"  said  Joan.  "I  want  you  to 
meet  Mr.  Norton." 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Rafferty?"  said  Dick,  holding 
out  his  hand. 

"Patsy's  me  name,"  said  the  other,  taking  it. 

"Ye're  to  go  ahead  wit'  yer  dinner,  Patsy,  Miss 
Babcock  says,"  remarked  his  mother. 

"Sure,  I'll  go  ahead,"  was  his  answer. 

He  went  to  the  sink  and  performed  a  hasty  and  un- 
abashed toilet,  talking  as  he  did  so. 

"Seen  ye  at  the  fact'ry.  First  toime  I  seen  ye 
there,"  he  remarked. 

"First  time  I've  been  there,"  Dick  answered. 

"Some  swell  joint,  ain't  it?" 

"Nothing  to  brag  about." 

"Dick  never  was  in  a  factory  before,"  Joan  said. 

"Mother  o'  Mike!  Ain't  that  quare  now,  an'  my 
Patsy  brought  up  in  ut,  as  ye  moight  say." 

"I'm  glad  av  ut,"  said  her  son,  briefly. 

"How  about  the  school,  Patsy?"  Joan  inquired. 


THE  THRESHOLD  12$ 

"We'll  git  ut.  The  byes  have  got  their  mad  up 
about  ut,  now." 

"When  is  the  election?" 

He  told  her  the  date  and  the  arrangement  they  had 
made  with  the  Republican  candidate,  and  how  Ben 
Card  had  sworn  vengeance  on  him,  Patsy  Rafferty,  all 
while  he  absorbed  his  loud-smelling  dinner,  with  an 
avidity  and  swiftness  appalling  to  the  onlookers.  Dick 
tried  not  to  watch  him,  but  it  hypnotized  him.  "Hog !" 
was  the  word  that  leapt  to  his  lips,  and  yet  he  liked 
that  frank,  freckled  face.  He  liked  the  fellow's  lack: 
of  "side,"  his  ease  of  manner.  They  had  found  him 
in  a  situation  he  could  not  change,  so  he  made  no  apol- 
ogy for  k.  There  was  something  upstanding  and 
self-respecting  about  the  whole  thing.  After  all,  table 
manners  were  not  essential. 

Joan  asked  Patsy  about  his  feud  with  Larsen,  and 
he  laughed  and  told  her  they  "had  fixed  it  up  and  Lar- 
sen took  him  on  again."  This  led  to  the  story  of  the 
fight,  and  Dick's  enjoyment  of  it  helped  the  two  boys 
on  to  a  comfortable  footing.  Patsy  tried  to  get  Dick's 
ideas  on  the  factory,  but  Dick  did  not  commit  himself. 

"I  never  saw  one  before — and  I  have  to  think  about 
it,"  he  explained. 

"Better  come  down  an'  take  a  job.  Ye'll  larn  quite 
a  bit  about  fact'ries  an'  other  things,  too — "  laughed 
Patsy. 

Joan  saw  from  Dick's  startled  glance  that  that  shot 
home.  She  rose. 

"Well — we  must  run  along.  Hope  we  haven't  up- 
set your  dinner  too  much,  Mrs.  Rafferty,"  Joan  apol- 
ogized. 

"Divil  a  bit.     Meals  happens  whin  they  happens  in 


126  THE  THRESHOLD 

this  house,  'ceptin'  fer  Patsy,"  said  that  good-natured 
soul. 

"See  you  before  the  election,  Patsy.  I  hear  you've 
done  great  work  in  organizing  the  thing,"  Joan  said. 

He  grinned,  without  reply. 

"Good-bye,  Mrs.  Rafferty.  I'm  coming  again," 
Dick  remarked,  "if  Miss  Babcock  will  bring  me." 

"Come  without  her." 

"May  I?     Thanks." 

The  Raffertys  laughed.  As  they  departed,  Mrs. 
Rafferty  said  to  Patsy. 

"Ain't  he  got  grand  manners?" 

"Yes,  an'  an  empty  nut.  'Niver  saw  one  before — 
got  to  think  about  ut,'  sez  he." 

"Give  'im  toime,  Pat.  He  ain't  had  your  advan- 
tages," said  his  mother  quite  seriously. 

They  made  one  other  stop,  at  a  house  in  worse  re- 
pair than  the  Raffertys'.  There  was  an  old  sick 
woman,  alone  there.  Her  daughter  worked  in  the  fac- 
tory and  had  gone  back.  The  old  lady  was  fluttered 
to  have  Dick  come  into  her  room.  Joan  led  him  about 
the  tottering  old  shack  before  they  left.  She  made  no 
comments — none  were  needed.  The  places  were  ob- 
viously not  fit  for  human  habitation,  that  was  all  she 
wanted  him  to  see. 

Mr.  Farwell  had  finished  his  lunch  when  they  got  to 
the  Hall.  So  they  had  theirs  alone,  and  rather  a 
silent  meal  it  was.  Dick's  mind  reverted  to  Patsy's 
smelly  repast,  and  the  delicacies  the  cook  sent  up  for 
them  seemed  unbearable. 

"The  hopeful  thing  about  all  this,"  said  Joan,  aware 
of  his  depression,  "is  that  so  much  can  be  done  to  make 
conditions  better.  It  doesn't  have  to  be  like  that — 


THE  THRESHOLD  127 

that's  what  makes  life  worth  living,  Dick,  the  thought 
that  we  can  change  it." 

He  glanced  across  the  table  to  her  and  spoke  ear- 
nestly. 

"We  will  change  it,  of  course.  But  don't  hate  us 
because  we  haven't  done  it  before,  will  you?" 

"Dear  boy — of  course  not.  Now  this  is  what  I  ask 
you  to  do — not  to  take  it  too  hard.  It  is  not  quite  so 
dreadful  to  those  people  as  it  seems  to  you — because 
habit  deadens  sensibilities  somewhat.  Just  think  that 
with  patience  and  study  and  understanding  we  can 
change  the  whole  scheme." 

When  they  found  Gregory  in  the  library  he  lifted 
a  quizzical  glance  to  them. 

"Well,  children,  how  endeth  the  first  lesson?" 

"Cut  it  out,  Uncle  Greg.  I  don't  want  to  think 
about  it,  or  talk  about  it.  Let's  get  the  3  o'clock  to 
New  York  and  take  Miss  Babcock  to  a  show,"  cried 
the  boy  passionately. 

Gregory's  lifted  eyebrows  were  turned  to  Joan.  She 
nodded. 

"Good  idea,  Dick!  Let's  take  him  up,  Mr.  Far- 
well,"  she  said  enthusiastically. 

"Delighted,"  replied  that  gentleman. 

She  had  always  refused  their  invitations  to  go  to 
New  York  before,  so  Dick  turned  to  her  gratefully. 

"You'll  go?  Bully!  I'll  tell  Jergens!"  he  cried 
and  plunged  out  of  the  room,  but  not  before  they  both 
heard  that  sob  in  his  throat. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  New  York  party  was  a  great  success. 
Joan  was  deposited  at  an  hotel,  while  Dick 
and  Gregory  were  to  spend  the  night  at  one 
of  the  latter's  clubs.  Joan  plead  a  mysterious  errand, 
as  soon  as  they  arrived  in  town,  so  they  left  her,  to  be 
called  for  later,  in  time  for  dinner  "at  the  gayest  place 
we  can  find,"  as  Dick  put  it. 

Joan  went  to  a  big  shop,  as  direct  as  a  moth  to  a 
flame.  The  problem  of  her  clothes  in  the  country  had 
not  troubled  her.  But  she  was  determined  that  her 
host  should  not  be  ashamed  of  her,  on  this  her  first  ap- 
pearance with  him  in  a  public  place.  She  intended  to 
invest  some  of  her  savings  in  a  proper  frock,  and  she 
did.  The  fact  that  she  fell  into  the  hands  of  an  intelli- 
gent clerk,  who  led  her  to  the  Misses'  Department  and 
sold  her  a  white  chiffon  gown  and  a  soft  green  velvet 
cape  for  what  Joan  had  expected  to  spend  on  the  dress 
alone,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story.  She  had  a 
real  thrill  over  her  first  white  satin  slippers,  and  she 
went  back  to  the  hotel  treading  on  air  like  a  vain  young 
peacock,  and  not  a  bit  like  one  consecrated  to  big  causes. 
She  found  that  Dick  had  sent  her  a  stiff,  old-fashioned 
bouquet  of  tiny  yellow-pink  roses,  in  a  paper  holder, 
with  long  tulle  streamers  of  green.  She  looked  upon 
it  with  admiring  awe,  because  it  was  her  first  bouquet. 

When  she  came  toward  Dick  and  his  uncle  in  her 
finery,  she  was  rewarded  for  her  efforts  to  do  them 

128 


THE  THRESHOLD  129 

proud.  She  held  her  bouquet  in  one  hand  and  her 
green  coat  floated  behind  her.  Gregory  looked  really 
startled  and  Dick  became  incoherent. 

The  party  from  that  time  on,  was  never-to-be-for- 
gotten by  any  of  them.  Dick  threw  himself  into  the 
occasion  with  an  abandon  which  made  Joan's  throat 
ache,  because  she  knew  he  was  running  away  from 
Farwell.  Gregory  exerted  himself,  and  was,  as  al- 
ways, the  perfect  host.  As  for  Joan,  she  fairly  danced 
through  the  evening — the  dinner  seemed  to  her  perfec- 
tion, the  play  delightful,  the,  supper  club  amusing. 

"You  have  made  Dick's  party  a  great  success," 
Gregory  said,  as  they  left  her. 

"I?  Oh — I've  only  just  been  along!"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"You  have  been  the  party!"  Dick  exclaimed. 

The  next  morning  Joan  went  to  see  Miss  Earl  and 
took  the  noon  train  to  Farwell.  The  men  followed 
later,  arriving  for  late  tea.  Dick  seemed  restless  and 
upset.  She  tried  to  be  very  gay  and  diverting,  but  she 
could  not  hold  his  attention.  Finally  he  burst  out — 

"Look  here,  you  two — I  want  to  say  something." 

"I  think  we  would  better  not  listen,  Miss  Babcock. 
He's  been  on  some  mysterious  errand  all  day — "  Greg- 
ory began. 

"I  saw  one  factory  in  New  York  and  two  on  Long 
Island — "  Dick  interrupted  him. 

They  both  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  Joan 
started  to  speak,  but  he  silenced  her. 

"I  know  you  don't  want  to  hear  about  yesterday, 
Uncle  Greg,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  bore  about  it. 
But  I  didn't  sleep  last  night  and  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
want  to  do — " 

"Go  ahead,  Dick,"  encouraged  his  uncle. 


130  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  went  to  look  at  some  real  factories  and  now  1 
know  what  we're  doing  in  Farwell — "  he  said  hotly. 

"I  want  to  remind  you  that  you  have  nothing  to  say 
about  what  they  are  doing  in  Farwell,  for  several  years, 
Dick." 

"I  shan't  butt  in — at  least,  I  think  I  shan't.  But 
when  I  get  my  chance  at  it,  I'll  raze  every  building 
and  shack  there  to  the  ground." 

"You  may  change  your  mind  in  four  years." 

"I  don't  want  to  argue  with  you,  Uncle  Greg.  You 
see  it  your  way  and  I  see  it  mine.  What  I  want  to  do 
is  to  go  to  Detroit  and  Dayton,  Ohio,  and  see  the  Ford 
factories  and  the  Cash  Register  factory.  I  want  to 
know  what  they  do  in  the  best  of  'em  all." 

"I  see  no  objection  to  that,  do  you,  Miss  Babcock?" 
replied  Gregory. 

"No — it's  a  good  idea,  Dick." 

"I  want  to  take  somebody  with  me — " 

"You  mean  Miss  Babcock?"  smiled  his  uncle. 

"No — a  fellow  who  works  down  in  our  shops — " 

"Patsy?"  demanded  Joan. 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  Dick!"  she  exclaimed  with  pleasure,  which 
Gregory  could  not  understand. 

"What's  this?"  he  inquired. 

"There's  a  young  fellow  named  Patrick  Rafferty. 
I  met  him  yesterday.  If  I'm  going  to  train  for  em- 
ployer, I'd  like  him  to  train  for  superintendent.  We 
might  just  as  well  begin  together." 

Joan  got  up  and  moved  away  to  hide  the  tears  that 
came  to  her  eyes.  She  wanted  to  go  and  put  her 
cheek  down  on  Dick's  curly  mop  of  hair  and  say, 
"Good  work,  Boy — "  but  instead  she  rang  for  the  tea 
things  to  be  removed. 


THE  THRESHOLD  131 

"How  long  a  tour  of  inspection  are  you  planning?" 
Gregory  asked. 

"We  could  do  it  in  a  week — Pat  would  have  to  be 
back  for  the  election  in  Farwell." 

"Upon  my  word,  Miss  Babcock,  your  pupil  comes  on 
fast.  Election  in  Farwell?  What  do  you  know  about 
that?"  amusedly. 

"It's  important  to  get  a  new  mayor  and  Patsy  is 
running  the  factory  men's  organization.  They  want  a 
public  school — " 

Gregory  laughed. 

"Take  care,  Dick — a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous 
thing!  Better  keep  your  Pat  out  of  the  way  over 
elections,  if  he's  Irish  and  an  organizer." 

"I  want  to  take  some  money  from  my  savings  bank 
to  pay  our  expenses,"  Dick  continued. 

"You  could  hardly  expect  me  to  finance  an  expedi- 
tion so  sure  to  result  in  my  own  inconvenience,"  agreed 
Gregory. 

"You've  no  objection,  Uncle  Greg?" 

"None.     When  do  you  start?" 

"As  soon  as  Pat  can  get  off." 

"Do  I  have  to  write  Saunders  to  give  him  a  vaca- 
tion?" 

"No — Patsy'll  attend  to  it  himself,  thanks,"  Dick 
answered  and  went  out. 

"Well,  here's  the  first  move,  Miss  Babcock.  Did 
you  suggest  this  idea?" 

"No— I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"You  approve  of  it?" 

"Oh  yes — it  is  splendid  of  Dick  to  take  hold  this 
way.  I  was  afraid  the  whole  thing  had  sickened  him 
— but  this  is  a  better  scheme  than  I  could  have  de- 
vised." 


132  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Who  is  this  boy?     You  know  him?" 

"Yes,  he  is  a  very  talented  lad — a  born  leader  with 
a  genius  for  organizing.  He's  only  a  couple  of  years 
older  than  Dick,  but  he's  a  marked  man  in  Farwell 
now." 

"What  does  he  do  in  the  factory  now?" 

"He's  a  carder — supports  his  mother  and  six  chil- 
dren. He  has  a  brain,  which  he  uses,  coupled  with 
magnetism  and  wit." 

"Is  he  a  trouble  maker?" 

"I  suppose  you  would  call  him  that,"  she  admitted. 

"And  you?" 

"You  don't  organize  people  to  be  resigned — you 
organize  them  to  protest." 

Gregory  considered  for  a  moment. 

"Will  you  remind  Dick,  when  it  is  necessary,  that 
I  do  not  intend  to  put  up  with  any  interference  in 
factory  affairs,  from  him  or  from  any  acquaintances  he 
may  make  in  the  village?"  he  said  quietly. 

The  result  of  the  conversation  was  that  Dick  and 
Patsy  went  on  their  pilgrimage.  How  the  details  were 
managed,  what  passed  between  them,  Joan  never  knew. 
The  day  of  their  departure,  she,  together  with  Mrs. 
Rafferty  and  such  friends  in  the  town  as  were  not  at 
work  in  the  factory,  saw  them  off.  It  was  the  one  topic 
of  conversation,  and  as  Patsy  and  Dick  both  refused 
to  gratify  curiosity  as  to  their  purpose,  Joan  was  as- 
sailed as  authority.  She  was  glad  to  tell  the  truth 
about  it — that  she  knew  literally  nothing  about  their 
plans. 

The  two  boys,  in  the  meantime,  omitted  all  the  pre- 
liminaries to  getting  acquainted.  Dick's  frank  expla- 
nation of  his  plan  and  his  need  of  an  informed  com- 
panion had  prejudiced  Patsy  in  his  favour,  at  once. 


THE  THRESHOLD  133 

He  repeated  Dick's  estimate  of  him — "He's  got  no 
'side' — that  fella!"  The  trip  interested  him,  and  he 
saw  a  chance  to  be  useful  to  his  followers — so  he  ac- 
cepted at  once — broke  the  news  to  Saunders  that  Dick 
had  commandeered  his  services,  and  the  deed  was  done. 

In  the  days  of  close  companionship  that  followed, 
they  grew  to  know  each  other  very  well.  Dick  had 
never  had  a  friend  in  a  boy  of  his  own  age  and  he 
found  himself  admiring  Patsy  enormously.  The  Irish- 
man had  a  vast  storehouse  of  experience  to  draw  from, 
he  had  been  hand  to  hand  with  life  from  early  boyhood. 
He  knew  the  game — he  knew  the  motives  that  moved 
people,  while  Dick  knew  nothing  of  his  kind. 

But  unlike  most  of  his  class,  Patsy  had  no  scorn  for 
the  other  boy's  way  of  life.  He  was,  in  fact,  deeply 
interested  in  the  tale  of  Dick's  wanderings.  They 
swapped  stories  by  the  hour,  on  the  train,  and  enjoyed 
each  other,  like  schoolboys. 

In  the  factories  which  they  visited,  Patsy's  accurate 
knowledge  of  working  conditions  and  the  men's  needs, 
was  of  great  help.  Dick  took  notes  on  everything  they 
saw — collected  literature  on  it.  He  was  absorbed  in 
the  idea  of  the  new  type  shops.  They  talked  to  the 
men,  who  answered  Patsy  freely.  They  discussed 
Union  organization  and  open  shop — they  inquired  into 
working  men's  insurance  schemes  and  pension  funds. 
They  investigated  the  best  type  of  homes  for  working 
people.  It  was  a  week  crowded  to  the  guards  with 
events  and  ideas. 

All  the  way  back  on  the  train  they  worked  over  the 
data  they  had  collected. 

"I  wish  the  whole  factory  district  could  be  burned 
down!"  exploded  Dick.  "It's  the  only  way  I  can  see 
to  do  anything  with  it." 


134  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Here — you — have  ye  got  no  regard  for  the  prop- 
erty of  others?  D'ye  want  the  Rafferty  silver  and 
linen  an'  gran'  clothes  to  be  a  total  loss?" 

"No — I  don't  want  anybody  to  lose  anything — but 
gee ! — it's  a  sin  to  let  the  old  rat-trap  stand  another 
day." 

"I'll  git  the  militia  out  ag'inst  you,  ye  riotin',  law- 
breakin'  employer!"  laughed  the  other  boy. 

They  had  planned  their  return,  so  they  would  get 
into  Farwell  late  Saturday  afternoon,  before  the  elec- 
tion polls  closed.  Dick  was  in  full  possession  of  the 
facts  in  the  case  of  Patsy  versus  the  Mayor,  and  he  was 
accordingly  interested  in  the  outcome  of  the  election. 
They  arranged  that  he  was  to  telephone  the  Hall  that 
he  wouldn't  be  home  until  late,  and  he  was  to  be  in  on 
any  disturbance  which  might  enliven  Saturday  evening 
— always  a  festive  occasion  in  a  factory  town. 

They  got  into  New  York  late  and  missed  a  connec- 
tion, so  that  they  actually  disembarked  in  Farwell  about 
half  past  seven,  after  the  polls  had  closed.  The  streets 
were  crowded  with  noisy,  frequently  drunken  people. 
Patsy  was  the  middle  of  a  circle  as  soon  as  they  ap- 
peared on  the  street.  The  news  was  hurled  at  them 
from  all  sides.  Ben  Card,  at  the  last  moment,  had 
papered  the  town  with  floaters  saying  that  if  he  were 
re-elected,  the  factory  district  would  get  its  school  in 
thirty  days.  He  had  sent  his  men  to  work  with  the 
factory  boys  and  here  and  there  money  had  changed 
hands. 

The  opposition  candidate  made  the  new  school  one 
of  the  important  issues  of  his  platform,  and  feeling 
in  the  camps  had  been  running  high  all  day.  It  was 
said  that  Ben  Card  had  sworn  in  sixty  special  police, 


THE  THRESHOLD  135* 

with  orders  to  use  their  clubs,  if  there  was  any  trouble. 
Patsy  listened,  asked  questions,  got  some  order  from 
their  chaotic  answers — then  he  began  to  dart  in  and  out 
of  the  crowd,  making  for  Grady's  saloon,  which  was 
headquarters  for  the  factory  men.  Dick  followed  at 
his  heels. 

The  saloon  was  crowded  and  Dick  was  not  noticed. 
Patsy,  every  bit  the  general,  got  the  report  on  his  army. 
With  few  exceptions,  the  men  had  stood  by  their  pledge 
to  support  the  Republican.  It  was  said  that  Ben  Card 
was  mad  and  meant  trouble. 

The  vote  from  some  of  the  smaller  districts  of  the 
town  began  to  come  in — mostly  for  Card.  The  men 
listened  a  second,  then  the  din  went  on.  A  boy  ran  in 
with  word  of  a  fight  down  on  Main  Street,  and  the 
saloon  was  cleared,  as  by  magic.  The  crowd  ran,  like 
dogs  in  a  pack,  Dick  and  Patsy  with  the  rest. 

As  they  turned  into  Main  Street  they  heard  as  well 
as  saw  the  fracas.  Cat-calls  and  hoots  greeted  the 
special  police,  but  when  they  began  to  use  their  clubs, 
the  sound  changed  to  one  of  rage.  Patsy  made  for 
the  storm  centre,  Dick  beside  him. 

"There  he  is — get  him  I"  shouted  a  voice. 

Dick  turned,  just  as  a  big  fellow  grabbed  Patsy. 

"Ye're  arrested!"  cried  the  Special. 

"Go  on — what  for?"  objected  Patsy. 

"Fer  incitin'  to  riot,"  answered  the  big  one,  giving 
his  arm  a  twist. 

"That's  a  lie!"  yelled  Dick. 

Somebody  hit  him  a  whack  behind  the  ear  and  he  hit 
back. 

"Run  'em  both  in !"  yelled  the  voice  of  authority. 

Patsy  was  still  himself. 


1136  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Ye're  makin'  a  mistake  on  this,  Ben,  take  it  from 
me !  This  is  Dick  Norton  from  the  Hall  ye're  runnin' 
in!" 

"Tell  your  jokes  to  the  policeman,  Patsy,"  said  Card. 
Thereupon  the  two  specials  hustled  the  boys  off  toward 
the  town  jail,  but  not  without  a  fight.  Dick  resisted 
furiously  and  nearly  got  away,  but  a  second  deputy 
came  to  the  aid  of  his  guard.  As  they  caught  him, 
he  got  a  glimpse  of  Patsy's  encounter. 

"Hit  him  in  the  eye,  Pat — kick  him  in  the  stomach!" 
urged  Dick. 

A  blow  on  the  head  from  a  club  settled  his  part  of 
the  controversy,  but  Patsy  was  badly  beaten  up  before 
the  two  boys  were  locked  in  jail. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

UNFORTUNATELY  for  Patsy,  and  perhaps 
unfortunately  for  Farwell,  Card  won  the  elec- 
tion. It  was  probably  a  fraudulent  victory, 
but  Farwell  was  apathetic  and  it  stood  unchallenged. 
The  arrest  on  Election  Night  might  have  been  a  much 
more  serious  thing  for  the  Mayor's  enemy  than  it 
proved,  because  as  soon  as  it  was  discovered  who 
Patsy's  companion  was,  the  boys  were  released,  the 
matter  was  hushed  up.  It  was  the  end  of  it  so  far  as 
the  Irishman  was  concerned,  but  Dick's  sense  of  jus- 
tice was  so  outraged  at  the  treatment  of  his  friend, 
that  he  insisted  upon  arraigning  the  Mayor  for  false 
arrest.  The  boys  proved  their  case,  the  Mayor  was 
fined  and  reproved  by  the  Judge.  But  the  important 
point  was  that  they  made  a  bitter  enemy  of  Ben  Card. 
He  marked  them  both  for  vengeance. 

Gregory  was  enraged  at  having  to  go  to  town,  to  bail 
Dick  out,  to  appear  in  court  at  the  subsequent  pro- 
ceedings, and  worst  of  all,  to  having  the  affairs  of  his 
family  on  every  tongue.  He  complained  briefly  and 
succinctly  to  Dick.  He  warned  him  that  he  could  not 
be  relied  on,  to  come  gracefully  to  the  rescue  when 
Dick  got  into  scrapes.  Dick  must  manage  to  keep  out 
of  jail. 

"Very  well,  Uncle  Greg,"  Dick  answered  quietly. 

He  found  a  sympathetic  listener  in  Joan.  He 
poured  out  to  her  his  indignation  at  the  way  Patsy 
had  been  attacked. 


138  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Why,  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  be  with  him,  he  says 
there's  no  knowing  what  Card  might  have  put  over  on 
him." 

Joan  nodded. 

"And  they've  elected  that  chump  again.  The  fac- 
tory men  didn't  stand  by  Patsy  after  all,  or  Card 
couldn't  have  won.  I  think  they  sold  him  out !"  body. 

"Possibly.  He  wasn't  there  to  keep  them  up  to  the 
point — they  don't  really  care  so  much  about  the  school, 
most  of  them,  and  Card  probably  offered  them 
money — " 

"Well,  but  that's  bribery!" 

"So  it  is,  but  have  you  ever  thought  what  a  few  dol- 
lars extra  mean  to  some  of  those  men?  They're  not 
used  to  standing  together  on  things — probably  Card's 
men  caught  some  of  them  after  they  were  drunk — " 

"Are  you  excusing  them  for  selling  Patsy  out?"  he 
demanded. 

"No — only  explaining  to  you  that  the  selling  of  votes 
is  not  the  crime  to  a  foreign-born  labourer  that  it  is 
to  you.  His  vote  is  bought  from  the  time  he  takes  out 
his  citizenship  papers  until  he  dies,  usually.  That's  the 
way  our  American  politicians  train  citizens." 

"It's  rotten!" 

"Granted." 

The  trip  of  inspection  had  faded  into  the  background 
beside  this  later  experience,  but  Joan  managed  to  get 
full  details  of  it  finally.  She  felt  that  like  the  first  day 
in  the  factory,  the  initial  effect  of  what  he  saw  and 
heard  in  the  model  factories  simply  stunned  him.  The 
transformation  necessary  to  make  Farwell  even  ap- 
proximate the  new  type  was  overwhelming.  He  re- 
peated to  her  his  belief  that  the  only  way  was  to  burn 
down  the  present  buildings  and  begin  on  a  new  plan. 


THE  THRESHOLD  139 

"One  of  the  things  we  must  remember,  is  that  we 
can't  go  too  fast,  that  we  can't  change  it  all  at  once, 
Dick.  You  know  what  the  Farwell  conditions  are, 
you  know  what  ideal  conditions  are,  now  your  four 
years  must  be  put  in,  devising  ways  to  make  the  change 
without  upsetting  your  own  interests  or  that  of  the 
workers.  Suppose  you  turned  all  the  people  in  the 
factories  out  of  their  homes  and  out  of  their  jobs — 
what  then?" 

"But  four  years !  Do  you  want  those  people  to 
go  on  living  like  rats  for  all  that  time?" 

"Yes — if  it  means  a  real  and  permanent  change  at 
the  end  of  it — not  just  an  upheaval.  You  can't  expect 
to  make  Mr.  Farwell  or  Saunders  see  things  our  way 
— we  must  wait  for  your  majority." 

"I  think  Uncle  Gregory  ought  to  be  forced  to  look 
into  it." 

"It  can't  be  done." 

"Can't  it?     I'm  not  so  sure !" 

"Careful  now,  Dick — you'll  only  spoil  everything  if 
you  try  to  take  a  hand  in  it  now.  Study  and  watch 
and  wait  until  you've  got  it  worked  out,  and  then  we'll 
do  something." 

"You  talk  like  an  old  granny!" 

"It's  not  my  native  tongue  I'm  speaking,  Dick.  But 
you  would  never  have  known  about  Farwell,  if  I  hadn't 
waked  you  up  to  its  needs.  I  don't  want  to  come  into 
this  house  and  be  friends  with  you  all  and  then  use 
you  as  a  dynamite  bomb  to  throw  into  the  midst  of 
your  uncle's  business.  Can't  you  see  how  I  feel  about 

it?" 

"I  think  Uncle  Greg's  comfort  has  been  considered 
long  enough — the  comfort  of  some  of  those  others 
ought  to  be  thought  of,"  he  replied  hotly. 


THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  just  ask  you  to  use  your  head,  Dick,  and  not  go  off 
half  cocked." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  he  reassured  her. 

He  did  not  consult  her  about  a  visit  he  paid  to  Greg- 
ory's study,  carrying  the  collection  of  facts  and  plans  he 
had  acquired  on  his  trip. 

"Uncle  Gregory,  I'd  like  to  show  you  some  of  this 
stuff  we  got  on  the  trip,"  he  began. 

"Much  obliged,  Dick.  If  it  is  facts  about  factories, 
I'm  afraid  I'm  not  much  interested." 

"Just  look  at  this  cut  of  this  place,  though — " 

"Um — hideous  architecture  always,  isn't  it?" 

"But  look  at  the  windows — look  at  the  gardens  and 
lawns  about  it." 

"Very  nice." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  Farwell  to  look  like  that,  Uncle 
Greg?" 

"I  can't  say  I  would." 

"Do  you  like  to  have  the  people  who  support  you 
live  in  rat  holes?"  hotly. 

"No — I  like  not  to  think  about  it  at  all.  Don't  bore 
me  with  it,  Dick." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Dick,  with  such  scorn  and  con- 
tempt as  only  youth  can  know.  Gregory  flushed  hotly 
as  the  boy  left  him,  then  he  sighed,  finally  he  smiled 
very  faintly. 

To  Dick  the  interview  was  intolerable.  He  went 
for  a  long  ride  all  by  himself  to  think  it  over,  ending 
up  with  a  call  on  Mrs.  Rafferty,  and  a  subsequent  talk 
with  her  son. 

"He  isn't  willing  to  do  a  thing — he  won't  look  at  the 
plans,  or  hear  about  them,"  he  explained  in  despair. 

"We'll  have  more  toime  to  work  on  the  idea — he 


THE  THRESHOLD  141 

may  not  let  ye  do  anything  even  when  ye  do  git  to  be 
head  av  the  company,"  he  added. 

"He's  got  to!" 

"I  always  heard  he  had  a  will — " 

"He  has,  but  so  have  I.  When  I  inherit,  I'll  run 
it —  Besides,  I'm  right  and  he's  wrong." 

"Ye  want  to  git  all  the  facts  there  is  to  git,  an' 
mebbe  ye  can  coax  him  with  'cm." 

"That's  Miss  Babcock's  way,  too,  but  it's  so  slow." 

"Aisy  does  it,  Dick.     There's  no  rush — " 

"Do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do?" 

"I  do  not." 

"I've  thought  it  out  this  afternoon.  Uncle  Gregory 
thinks  I'm  nuts  on  this  thing  and  that  after  a  little  I'll 
cool  down  and  forget  about  it.  Well,  I'll  show  him. 
I'm  going  to  make  Saunders  give  me  a  job." 

"Doin'  what?" 

"Whatever  you  did,  when  you  began." 

"But  what's  the  idea?" 

"I  want  to  know  the  people  that  work  for  us;  I  want 
to  know  what  they  do  and  what  they  need.  I  want  to 
learn  the  thing  from  the  bottom  to  the  top — " 

Patsy  whistled  a  long  low  tone. 

"Say — "  he  remarked  " — there's  nothin'  to  this  em- 
ployer game — you  belong  with  us.  You're  a  foighter, 
ye  arr!" 

"Well — I'm  going  to  see  Saunders  in  the  morning." 

"With  a  note  from  Mr.  Farwell?" 

"Note  nothing.  I'm  not  going  to  tell  Uncle  Greg 
till  it's  all  settled." 

"Mebbe  ye'd  better  tell  'im  first,"  advised  Patsy. 

"Nope — I've  decided  on  that." 

"What  does  Miss  Babcock  say?" 


142  THE  THRESHOLD 

"She  doesn't  know.  I  tell  you,  I  only  thought  of  it 
this  afternoon." 

"Tell  her — she's  got  sinse." 

"She'll  try  to  stop  me." 

"Why?" 

"She  don't  want  to  make  trouble  for  Uncle  Greg." 

"Is  she  stuck  on  him?" 

"Lord — no — but  she's  got  some  idea  of  being  re- 
sponsible about  me.  Rubbish,  I  tell  her." 

"  Well — I  dunno's  they  could  stop  ye,  if  ye  want 
to  earn  yer  six  dollars  a  wake,"  grinned  Pat. 

The  interview  between  Saunders  and  Dick  next  day 
was  unsatisfactory  in  the  extreme,  from  the  boy's  point 
of  view.  Saunders  refused  to  do  anything  about  it 
until  he  had  orders  from  Mr.  Farwell  that  Dick  was 
to  have  a  job.  Dick  assured  him  that  he  was  not  a 
child — that  he  was  a  free-born  American  citizen  with 
a  right  to  a  job,  if  he  could  get  it.  But  Saunders  re- 
marked that  he  wasn't  running  a  kindergarten,  that  it 
was  bad  business  to  take  him  on  for  a  few  weeks,  until 
he  got  tired  of  it.  There  was  no  need  for  him  to  learn 
the  business  that  way,  etc.,  etc.  Dick  left  in  high 
dudgeon  and  betook  himself  to  the  Hall. 

He  had  to  curb  his  impatience  until  lunch,  as  Joan 
was  busy  and  his  uncle  not  at  home.  He  wanted  a 
full  audience  when  he  exploded  his  bomb.  When  they 
were  finally  served  to  lunch  and  the  butler  gone,  he 
began. 

"Miss  Babcock,  would  you  mind  if  we  had  lessons  at 
night?" 

"Not  at  all,  Dick,  but—" 

"That's  all  right,  then.  I  intend  to  take  a  job  in  the 
factory  during  the  day  time — " 

"What's  all  this?"  inquired  Gregory. 


THE  THRESHOLD  143 

"I  asked  Saunders  for  a  job  today.  He  won't  give 
it  to  me  until  you  tell  him  to,  so  will  you  call  him  up  and 
give  him  orders  to  take  me  on?" 

Gregory  laughed. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do?  More  factory  in- 
vestigations?" 

"I  intend  to  learn  the  business,  from  the  bottom 
up." 

"Have  you  given  up  college?"  amusedly. 

"I  haven't  decided  that  yet — " 

"Oh,  but  Dick,  you  mustn't  give  it  up,"  cried  Joan. 

"I  shall  go  on  preparing  just  the  same,"  he  replied 
testily. 

"Was  Saunders  enthusiastic  over  your  idea?"  in- 
quired Gregory. 

"He  was  not.     He  is  a  very  objectionable  person." 

"Shall  you  report  our  terrible  factory  conditions  to 
the  factory  inspectors,  Dick?"  his  uncle  continued. 

"I  expected  you  to  laugh  at  me,"  the  boy  replied 
hotly. 

"I  don't  mean  to  laugh.  I  just  want  to  get  at  your 
motive." 

"I  want  to  understand  the  workers  and  find  out  what 
they  need,"  his  nephew  answered. 

"You  don't  see  any  way  to  manage  it,  but  this  rather 
theatrical  idea?" 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  theatrical  about  it — " 

"What  do  you  think  about  it,  Miss  Babcock?" 

"Of  course  I  know  it  won't  hurt  him,  to  try  his  hand 
at  a  real  job,  but  if  it  means  his  giving  up  college,  I'd 
oppose  it  violently." 

"Why  are  you  so  set  on  college?  You  don't  think 
much  of  Harvard — you  said  so." 

"Oh,  no,  I  didn't,  Dick.     I  said  I  wasn't  sure  it  was 


144  THE  THRESHOLD 

the  best  place  for  you.  But  of  course,  you  must  go  to 
college.  You  aren't  prepared  to  do  anything  yet — 
you're  just  a  young  uninformed  boy,  not  ready  to  ap- 
proach any  of  the  big  problems." 

"Well,  I'll  go  to  college  all  right,"  he  agreed,  irri- 
tatedly.  "What  I  want  now  is  to  get  this  job." 

"The  whistle  blows  at  7 :3O,  Dick.  You  don't  break- 
fast until  nine,"  remarked  Gregory. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  my  breakfast!" 

"Seven-thirty  to  six  are  the  hours." 

"If  they  can  do  it,  I  can." 

"They're  trained  to  do  it." 

"Then  I'll  be  trained,  too." 

"Is  this  your  Patsy's  idea?" 

"No,  it  isn't — it's  my  own  idea.  Don't  you  think 
I  ever  have  an  idea?" 

"I  admit  you  have  them — queer  ones." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  think  about  them !  Will  you 
get  me  the  job,  or  won't  you  ?" 

Gregory  saw  the  boy  was  excited  and  nervous. 

"If  you  and  Miss  Babcock  both  think  that  this  is  a 
necessary  part  of  your  education,  I  shall  not  oppose  it, 
Dick.  But  I  think  I  ought  to  have  your  promise  that 
you  will  not  stir  up  dissatisfaction  among  the  workers. 
There  are  some  phases  of  the  business  that  have  not 
come  under  your  attention  yet,  and  it  is  important  that 
we  have  no  trouble  at  this  time." 

"I'm  not  going  to  stir  up  trouble — what  do  you  take 
me  for?"  the  boy  demanded. 

"For  a  very  trying  student  of  sociology!"  his  uncle 
smiled,  as  he  went  off  to  telephone  Saunders. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  Farwell  factories  manufactured  coarse  cot- 
ton cloth.     The  industry  was  fairly  evenly 
divided  between  men  and  women,  although  in 
some  departments  the  workers  were  entirely  of  one 
sex.     There   was  no   really  skilled  labour   required, 
consequently  wages  were  low.     Futile  efforts  to  organ- 
ize among  the  workers  had  always  ended  in  disaster 
for  them,  so  a  certain  amount  of  peace  had  endured 
for  two  years,  following  the  last  abortive  attempt  to 
unionize. 

Saunders,  up  from  the  ranks  himself,  disliked  and 
distrusted  employes.  He  ruled  with  an  autocratic 
hand,  with  power  unlimited,  because  Mr.  Farwell  could 
not  and  would  not  be  troubled  with  factory  details. 
According  to  his  lights  he  served  Mr.  Farwell  well. 
He  was  honest  and  conscientious.  It  was  unimportant 
to  him,  whether  the  men  and  girls  liked  him  or  not;  the 
point  was  whether  their  output  was  up  to  the  mark. 

He  listened  to  Mr.  Farwell's  request  that  he  take 
Dick  on,  he  agreed  with  his  belief  that  it  would  be 
for  a  brief  period  only.  Mr.  Farwell  had  no  objec- 
tion to  the  boy  getting  a  good  dose  of  it — he  suggested 
that  Saunders  keep  an  eye  on  him,  and  not  let  any  senti- 
mental notions  about  the  workers  and  their  conditions 
interfere  with  discipline.  Mr.  Saunders  thought  he 
could  manage  that.  It  was  with  a  certain  grim  satis- 
faction that  he  determined  to  set  Dick  to  work  carding 
cotton. 

US 


146  THE  THRESHOLD 

Dick  presented  himself  about  nine  o'clock  of  his  first 
day.  He  wore  riding  clothes,  as  he  had  come  in  town 
on  his  horse. 

"Going  to  start  in  today?"  Saunders  inquired. 

"Yes." 

"Work  begins  here  at  eight  o'clock." 

"I  know  that.  I  thought  since  I  had  to  learn  what 
to  do  and  how  to  do  it  today  that  I  might  as  well  come 
late." 

"Better  get  some  overhalls — put  'em  on  in  the  lava- 
tory. The  foreman  will  give  ye  a  locker.  Then  come 
back  here." 

Dick  obeyed  orders  and  returned  in  a  flannel  shirt 
and  overalls,  such  as  all  the  men  wore.  Saunders 
scarcely  looked  at  him.  He  summoned  the  foreman. 

"I  want  you  to  put  Norton  to  work  at  a  carding  ma- 
chine. He'll  begin  at  six  dollars  a  week.  There  will 
be  no  difference  between  him  and  other  men  in  the 
shops,"  was  his  brief  direction. 

Dick  went  out  with  the  foreman  and  into  the  inferno 
of  noise  and  lint-choked  air,  and  shrill  lights  which 
he  remembered  so  vividly.  The  floors  shook  with  the 
rumble  of  the  elephants,  and  the  keepers  crowded  each 
other  as  before.  He  was  put  to  work  under  the  direc- 
tion of  a  man  named  Chech,  a  Slav.  All  morning  he 
followed  the  big  fellow  up  and  down  watching  the 
process.  At  the  end  of  two  hours,  when  the  whistle 
blew,  Dick  was  fairly  sick  from  noise  and  bad  air.  He 
followed  the  crowd  into  the  open.  He  was  conscious 
that  they  looked  at  him — he  nodded  to  the  men  he 
knew  and  went  on.  Patsy  caught  up  with  him. 

"Hello,  Dick." 

"Hello,  Pat." 

"How  did  it  go?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  147 

Dick  turned  a  white  face  on  him. 

"I  suppose  I'll  get  on  to  it.  The  noise  and  light  and 
that  stuff  that  makes  you  choke  is — is  the  limit!" 

"You'll  get  used  to  it.  Yer  feet  will  about  kill  ye 
fer  a  whoile,  but  ye'll  git  over  that,  too.  Where  ye 
goin'  to  eat?" 

"I  don't  think  I  want  anything  today.  I'll  bring 
my  lunch  from  home  tomorrow." 

"Come  on  home  wit'  me.  Ye  gotta  ate  to  kape  up 
that  job." 

"But  I—" 

"Niver  moind — there's  plenty  av  stew  an'  the  ould 
woman  ull  be  glad  to  see  ye." 

So  Dick  went  home  with  Patsy.  Mrs.  Rafferty  gave 
him  a  hearty  welcome,  swept  a  few  children  out  of  the 
way,  gave  him  a  seat,  and  ladled  out  corn  beef  and 
cabbage  and  onions  for  him,  with  a  generous  hand. 
He  performed  his  ablutions  at  the  sink,  using  the  Raf- 
ferty towel.  He  sat  at  the  table  and  choked  down  the 
ill-smelling  food,  whenever  Mrs.  Rafferty  or  Patsy 
looked  in  his  direction. 

"Ye're  kind  av  played  out  at  foirst — I  remember 
how  Patsy  was — but  ye  git  used  to  it,"  encouraged  his 
hostess.  "Eat  hearty  now,  ye  gotta  kape  yer  stringth 
up." 

"Oh,  I  am,"  he  assured  her. 

She  gave  him  a  cup  of  coffee,  black  and  poisonous, 
which  he  drank.  Their  kindness  and  their  sympathy 
braced  him  up,  and  when  the  whistle  blew  he  went  back 
with  Patsy,  feeling  better.  The  first  hour  passed; 
during  the  sc.cond  hour  his  teacher  tried  him  out — the 
third  hour  he  took  over  his  job.  Up  and  down,  up  and 
down  he  walked,  feeding  this  never-satisfied  ogre. 
There  was  no  interest  in  it,  no  diversity,  just  back  and 


i48  THE  THRESHOLD 

forth,  like  a  horse  on  a  treadmill,  carding  the  cotton. 

His  feet  were  swollen  and  every  step  hurt  him,  his 
bones  ached  and  he  coughed  incessantly  with  the  lint 
in  his  nose.  As  time  wore  on  the  noise  seemed  to  grow 
louder  and  louder — he  was  sick  at  his  stomach  and 
wracked  with  thirst.  He  staggered  up  and  down,  up 
and  down,  thinking  each  trip  that  he  could  not  do  it 
again.  He  wanted  to  cry  or  to  faint,  he  didn't  care 
which.  But  his  subconscious  mind  kept  telling  him 
that  he  was  on  trial,  the  men  were  watching  him — if  he 
couldn't  hold  out  until  the  whistle  blew  they  would 
laugh  at  him — he  would  be  disgraced.  On  and  on 
again,  in  aching  torment! 

After  ages  of  it,  he  saw  signs  of  special  agitation 
about  him — a  whirr — then  silence,  his  machine  stopped 
— all  the  machines  stopped. 

"Here,  you — time  to  quit,"  called  the  man  who  had 
been  his  teacher. 

He  went  out  when  the  others  went,  stumbling  along, 
hardly  knowing  where.  The  men  got  their  caps  and 
hats  from  lockers  and  Patsy  helped  him  get  his  overalls 
put  away  and  his  coat  and  cap  on. 

"Played  out — ain't  ye?  I  know.  Better  come 
home  with  me  and  rest  a  bit — " 

"I  think  I'd  better  get  home,"  said  Dick  thickly — 
adding,  "Drink?" 

Patsy  gave  him  water  out  of  a  dirty  cup.  The 
others  hurried  out  and  the  two  boys  were  almost  the 
last  to  leave  the  building.  Patsy  was  guarding  his 
friend  from  any  Inspection  or  joshing.  Over  in  front 
of  the  Raffertys  they  could  see  a  runabout. 

"Miss  Babcock's  at  our  house,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Come  on." 

He  led  Dick  slowly  and  in  silence.     Joan  saw  them 


THE  THRESHOLD  149 

coming  and  came  to  meet  them.  She  winced  at  sight 
of  Dick's  white,  suffering  face. 

"Hello  there,"  she  called  briskly.  "I'd  no  idea  you 
were  going  to  begin  your  job  today.  I  thought  it  was 
tomorrow." 

Dick  shook  his  head.  Tomorrow — that  had  to  be 
faced — tomorrow ! 

Joan  went  on  chaffing  Patsy  and  making  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty  laugh — ignoring  Dick  entirely. 

"Jergens  brought  me  in,  in  the  runabout  and  rode 
your  horse  out  to  the  Hall.  Do  you  mind  taking  me 
home  in  this?"  she  said  finally. 

He  got  in  painfully  and  she  followed.  She  called 
their  good-byes  to  the  Raffertys  as  Dick  started  the  car. 
Outside  the  town  she  said, 

"You've  got  the  wrong  kind  of  shoes  on,  and  Mrs. 
Rafferty  said  you  did  not  eat  any  lunch." 

He  made  no  answer. 

"Tomorrow  I'll  bring  your  lunch  in  to  you,  or  send 
Jergens  with  it.  Nice  air,  isn't  it?  ...  Want  me  to 
take  the  car?  I  can  on  this  road." 

He  shook  his  head  and  they  went  on  in  silence.  His 
set  face  looked  ahead,  up  the  road,  and  he  let  the  car 
out  to  forty  miles.  He  knew  he  could  hold  out  to  get 
to  the  Hall,  if  they  hurried.  When  they  stepped  onto 
the  veranda  Joan  noticed  that  he  moved  slowly  and 
painfully. 

"Hot  bath,  Dick,  and  bed.  I'll  send  up  your  din- 
ner." 

"No,  thanks,"  with  dignity. 

He  laboured  up  the  stairs  without  a  groan,  and  Joan 
could  not  see  for  tears.  Gregory  came  upon  her,  her 
swimming  eyes  lifted  to  the  boy's  departing  back. 

"Dick?"  he  said. 


150  THE  THRESHOLD 

She  nodded. 

"Is  the  boy  all  right?"  anxiously. 

She  nodded  again. 

"Then  why — ?"  he  inquired  gently. 

"Oh— I  don't  know—"  she  evaded.  "He's  a  fine 
boy — Dick,"  she  added  pointlessly. 

Dick  came  into  the  room,  after  Gregory  and  Joan 
were  seated  at  dinner.  He  walked  with  the  same  care, 
but  his  pallor  was  supplanted  by  a  high  flush. 

"Well,  Dick,  I  hope  you  bring  home  a  working 
man's  appetite,"  was  Gregory's  greeting. 

"Sorry  to  be  late,"  the  boy  apologized  to  Joan. 

She  nodded  and  took  full  charge  of  that  dinner. 
She  talked  and  laughed  and  told  stories,  she  managed 
to  get  Gregory  started  on  tales  of  adventuring  in  far 
places — she  watched  Dick  all  the  time  without  looking 
at  him,  and  protected  him  every  minute.  After  the 
first  two  courses  he  began  to  listen  and  pay  attention. 
Then  she  teased  him  about  something,  made  him  retort, 
induced  him  to  laugh.  His  colour  went  down  and  his 
eyes  were  less  bright. 

Gregory  watched  the  entire  performance  with  in- 
terest and  understanding.  He  could  see  that  the  boy 
had  had  a  hard  day — he  was  perfectly  willing  to  assist 
Joan  in  her  efforts  to  entertain  him.  He  thought  she 
rather  spoiled  him — women  always  would  spoil  him. 
Considering  that  she  approved  of  this  nonsense,  she 
seemed  to  be  getting  very  little  satisfaction  out  of  the 
experiment — tears  first,  and  now  this  deliberate  effort 
to  enchain  Dick's  attention. 

He  saw  the  boy  draw  Joan's  arm  through  his  as  they 
went  to  the  living  room.  He  smiled  at  her,  like  a 
grateful  puppy.  Once  comfortably  settled  she  put 
Dick's  favourite  records  on  the  victrola. 


THE  THRESHOLD  151 

"Is  Dick  being  especially  petted  tonight?"  Gregory 
inquired  wickedly. 

"I  don't  know — are  you,  Dick?" 

"Hadn't  noticed  it." 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  tune  he  went  to  sleep. 
So  Joan  made  an  excuse  for  going  out  of  the  room. 
She  called  to  him  and  he  stumbled  out  to  her,  stiffly. 

"Bed  now.  I'll  have  you  called  at  six?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"Yes.     And — and  thanks,"  he  added. 

"I  know  all  about  it,  Dick.  I  congratulate  you,"  she 
said  proudly. 

"It's  just  hell !"  the  boy  answered  and  went  upstairs. 

"Did  you  get  him  off  to  bed?"  Gregory  smiled  as 
she  re-entered  the  room  where  he  read. 

"Yes." 

"You  aren't  enjoying  this  state  of  his  initiation?" 

"No — I  know  what  it  means — the  first  weeks  in  a 
godless  industry  like  that — "  she  began  and  stopped. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  he  inquired. 

"It  would  not  interest  you,"  she  answered — "it's 
ugly  and  brutalizing." 

"But  you  wanted  Dick  to  go  through  with  it?" 

"I  wanted  to  be  sure  Dick  could !" 

"And  are  you  sure?" 

"Yes." 

"It  shows  'the  stuff  he's  made  of — isn't  that  the 
phrase?" 

She  nodded. 

"You  don't  forget  that  I'm  very  fond  of  Dick,  do 
you?" 

"No." 

"I  know  you're  fond  of  him,  too." 

"Very." 


152  THE  THRESHOLD 

"We're  both  proud  of  him  when  he  does  well?" 

"Yes." 

"There's  always  a  reservation  in  your  voice  ?  There 
were  tears  in  your  eyes,  when  he  went  upstairs." 

"I  know.  Isn't  it  ridiculous?  I  want  him  to  do 
this —  I  admire  him  for  it — and — and — it  nearly 
breaks  my  heart  to  see  him  suffer  under  it,"  she  burst 
out. 

"That's  just — woman,  isn't  it?"  he  smiled.  "You 
would  better  have  left  him  to  me — in  my  world  only 
ugliness  can  make  us  suffer." 

"I  like  him  better  fighting  ugliness." 

"I  suppose  you  do,"  with  a  sigh. 

"The  ugliness  of  Farwell  will  make  you  suffer,  and 
fight,  too,  when  it  is  finally  registered  on  your  senses." 

"Are  you  threatening  me?"  he  smiled. 

"Farwell  is  beginning  to  creep  up  the  hill  to  you — 
it  is  beginning  to  pull  you  down  the  hill  to  it — you  can't 
be  safe  much  longer — "  she  answered  seriously. 

He  watched  her  go,  with  his  amused  smile. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  three  or  four  weeks  that  followed  upon 
Dick's  first  day  in  the  factory  were,  in  all 
probability,  the  most  important  weeks  of  his 
life.  In  them  he  proved  to  himself  that  he  could  en- 
dure hardships  and  acute  physical  discomfort.  He 
found  that  he  could  give  up  all  the  things  which  had 
hitherto  made  life  worth  living — and  it  was  still  worth 
living. 

That  he  stuck  it  out  was  not  due  to  any  heroic  senti- 
ments. His  young,  half-baked  enthusiasm  had  hurled 
him  into  a  situation  which  was  very  uncomfortable,  but 
his  pride  made  him  see  the  thing  through.  Patsy  and 
Joan  and  Uncle  Gregory  must  be  made  to  respect  him. 
That  was  really  the  thought  that  kept  him  at  work. 
There  were  many  days  when  it  just  barely  sufficed,  as 
a  goad,  but  as  time  went  on,  and  he  began  to  adjust 
himself  to  his  job,  he  grew  more  and  more  glad  that 
he  had  a  chance  to  make  good. 

As  the  weeks  grew  into  months  he  found  that  the 
slight  suspicion  of  his  motives  which  the  men  had  shown 
at  first,  melted  into  friendliness.  They  began  to  under- 
stand that  he  had  not  come  among  them  as  a  spy,  but 
as  a  comrade.  Patsy  managed  to  interpret  him  to 
them,  in  the  beginning,  and  later  he  needed  no  go- 
between. 

His  initiation  was  a  painful  awakening  to  the  grim 
realities  for  this  undeveloped,  care-free  boy.  He  had 

153 


154  THE  THRESHOLD 

never  known  discomfort,  nor  an  ungratified  desire. 
Here  he  was  suddenly  transported  into  a  world  where 
discomfort  was  the  a-b-c  of  living.  He  learned  the 
terror  of  the  man  or  woman  of  the  unskilled  class,  of 
"losing  the  job."  It  was  the  ghost  that  haunted  them. 
It  was  the  king  that  ruled  them.  They  endured  any- 
thing rather  than  risk  unemployment. 

As  time  went  on  he  made  friends  with  some  of  the 
girls  who  worked  in  the  shop.  They  were  shy  with 
him  at  first,  but  his  straightforward  friendliness  won 
them  in  the  end.  He  neither  guyed  them,  nor  courted 
them,  as  the  other  men  did.  He  talked  to  them  as  if 
they  were  any  women  whom  he  might  meet.  He  did 
not  share  Patsy's  disdain  of  them,  any  more  than  he 
did  the  frankly  expressed  lust  of  the  flesh,  of  the  other 
men. 

That  it  was  all  sordid,  ugly  and  sickening,  was  his 
first  feeling  about  Farwell — then  came  the  real  prob- 
lem, the  first  one  he  had  ever  attacked — how  to  make  it 
better. 

Joan  often  came  in  and  had  lunch  with  him,  in  the 
big,  empty  factory  hall.  Thermos  bottles  and  a  char- 
coal stove  had  solved  the  problem  of  a  nutritious,  hot 
lunch,  and  it  appeared  daily.  Sometimes,  Patsy  joined 
them,  often  one  or  two  of  the  girls  were  asked  to  stay. 
They  all  considered  it  next  in  distinction  to  being 
entertained  at  the  Hall.  It  was  during  these  hours 
that  Dick  got  his  first-hand  knowledge  of  things,  and 
often  the  glimpse  into  the  needs  of  the  whole  com- 
munity would  come  through  the  inadvertent  remark  of 
one  of  these  guests. 

"It's  sickening,  the  way  they  all  take  it  for  granted 
that  when  they're  fourteen,  they  get  shoved  into  this 
hole.  From  that  time  on  they  live  in  the  terror 


THE  THRESHOLD  1551 

of  getting  shoved  outl"  Dick  said  to  Joan,  one  day. 

"Yes — it's  too  bad  we  can't  put  off  their  conscrip- 
tion until  they  are  sixteen.  Some  places  in  the  South, 
the  working  age  is  eight,  Dick!" 

"It  makes  you  see  red!" 

"There's  a  growing  sentiment  about  that — once  the 
public  gaze  fastens  on  an  abuse — it  stops,"  Joan  re- 
plied. 

She  found  herself  in  the  strange  position  of  holding 
on  with  might  and  main  to  a  force  which  she  herself 
had  set  in  motion.  In  her  wildest  dreams  she  had 
never  hoped  to  see  Dick  at  work  in  the  factory.  A 
year  ago  it  would  have  seemed  a  triumph.  Then  there 
was  in  her  mind  a  distinct  line  of  cleavage.  On  one 
side  was  labour,  with  its  needs  and  its  abuses;  on  the 
other,  capital,  with  its  power  and  its  greed.  They  were 
enemies,  definitely  lined  up  against  each  other.  She 
had  graduated  during  her  college  course,  from  the 
camp  of  those  who  believed  that  fight,  and  eventually 
industrial  war,  was  the  only  solution  of  the  difficulty, 
into  the  group  of  soberer  thinkers  who  hoped  to  show 
that  since  the  aim  of  capital  and  labour  was  the  same 
— namely,  production  to  the  nth  power,  that  a  way 
could  be  found  for  them  to  work  in  amity. 

But  the  months  spent  at  Farwell  Hall  with  these  two 
delightful  men,  had  somewhat  blurred  the  issue.  She 
detested  Gregory's  selfishness,  but  she  had  come  to 
understand  it.  Dick's  ignorance  was  too  obvious  to 
need  mention.  She  lashed  herself  at  the  thought  that 
the  luxury  of  their  living  had  influenced  her  judgment. 
She  could  not  believe  so  ill  of  herself — but  certain  it 
was  that  she  did  not  want  to  precipitate  catastrophe 
into  the  lives  of  these  two  people,  of  whom  she  had 
grown  so  fond.  So,  she  found  herself  holding  Dick 


i56  THE  THRESHOLD 

back,  urging  him  to  go  slow,  to  study  things  out  before 
he  acted.  She  pointed  out  to  him  that  these  conditions 
had  always  existed — that  the  poor  had  neither  the 
strength  nor  the  brains  to  find  the  way  out  for  them- 
selves— it  must  be  done  by  those  people  who  had  brains 
and  power. 

"But  I'm  so  ashamed  of  having  them  so  scared  of  us ! 
How  can  we  get  some  self-respect  into  them?"  cried  the 
boy. 

"Unionize  'em  an'  show  'em  their  power,"  said 
Patsy.  "That's  the  only  way  ye  can  do  it,  Dick,  an'  yc 
wouldn't  be  for  that,  I  suppose !" 

"Why  wouldn't  I?"  hotly. 

"Well — yer  uncle  won't  stand  fer  it." 

"I'll  stand  for  anything  that  means  I'm  dealing  with 
men  and  women,  and  not  with  slaves  of  my  indus- 
try." 

"That's  all  right,  Dick,  when  you  come  into  power, 
you  can  tell  the  men  you're  willing  they  should 
organize,  but  now  if  Mr.  Farwell  objects  to  it,  he's  got 
the  right  to  say  so." 

"Has  he?     I'm  not  so  sure." 

"Patsy  and  I  both  know  that  it  takes  a  long  time  to 
bring  things  about  with  our  people.  You  have  to  teach 
them  how  to  do  everything — most  of  all  how  to  use 
power.  It  is  because  some  of  our  leaders  haven't 
learned,  because  they've  just  taken  a  leaf  from  the  em- 
ployers' book,  that  we've  got  labour  and  capital  at  a 
deadlock  now." 

"Well — how  many  years  have  we  stood  fer  the  em- 
ployer's tyranny?"  cried  Patsy. 

"How  many  years  is  he  going  to  stand  for  ours?" 
Joan  answered  him. 

"Till  he  rots !"  Patsy  retorted. 


THE  THRESHOLD  157 

"Patsy — you're  talking  about  Dick." 

"I  am  not." 

"Dick  is  the  enemy.  That's  what  I'm  trying  to  say 
— there  can't  be  a  tyranny  on  either  side,  nor  a  dead- 
lock— it's  got  to  be  co-operation,  fairness,  equal  chance. 
That's  the  modern  way." 

"But  there's  no  co-operation  here,"  objected  Dick. 

"But  Farwell  isn't  typical,  Dick.  It's  just  an  exam- 
ple of  the  old  system,  an  out  of  the  way,  unorganized 
survival.  It  thrives  because  of  its  age  and  the  Farwell 
prestige,  and  because  the  estate  is  rich  and  can  keep  it 
advertised.  In  the  big  organized  industries,  like  steel 
and  iron  workers,  silk  workers,  even  the  higher  grades 
of  cotton  cloth  workers,  no  such  conditions  exist  as 
there  are  here.  You  saw  how  the  workers  lived 
around  those  model  factories- — but  they  were  higher 
grade  than  these  workers  here.  Patsy  saw  that,  didn't 
you?  Why?  Because  they  had  been  taught." 

"Organize  'em  an'  they  learn  quick  enough,"  Patsy 
remarked. 

So  they  argued  hour  on  hour,  and  Dick  listened  and 
learned  from  these  two,  who  held  his  respect  and  his 
utmost  devotion. 

Gregory,  true  to  his  colours,  asked  no  questions,  made 
no  comment  on  Dick's  behaviour.  If  he  was  surprised 
that  he  stuck  to  the  job,  he  never  said  so.  The  only 
visible  effect  of  Dick's  all  day  absence  was  that  Gregory 
began  to  monopolize  more  of  Joan's  time  than  before. 
Nowadays  they  rode  or  tramped  together,  they  read 
the  same  books  and  discussed  them.  Sometimes  they 
argued  about  Dick  and  his  future,  but  usually  by  mutual 
consent,  they  steered  clear  of  waters  of  contention. 
They  grew  to  understand  and  respect  each  other,  and 
better  still,  to  enjoy  each  other.  Joan  and  Dick  had 


158  THE  THRESHOLD 

resumed  their  studies  at  night,  and  quite  often  Gregory 
took  part  in  the  discussions  that  arose  between  them. 

He  was  not  unaware  that  there  was  some  danger 
in  a  man  of  his  temperament  and  habits  becoming  so 
dependent  upon  a  woman  who  lived  under  his  roof. 
He  kept  his  warning  signals  flying  in  his  own  mind. 
Right  after  Christmas  he  decided  to  betake  himself 
South  for  a  while  and  see  what  effect  absence  had  upon 
his  growing  habit.  He  went  reluctantly,  and  found 
himself  annoyed  at  Joan's  enthusiastic  acceptance  of 
his  plan. 

Joan  took  advantage  of  her  new  freedom  to  spend 
the  greater  part  of  her  days  in  the  village,  renewing 
and  strengthening  her  associations  there.  She  tried 
to  get  the  women  waked  up  to  new  standards.  She 
knew,  as  Dick  and  Patsy  in  their  hot  intolerance  failed 
to  know,  that  if  Farwell  factory  hands  were  trans- 
ferred over  night  into  perfect  cottages,  with  good 
wages,  that  the  scale  of  living  would  be  the  same,  be- 
cause the  women  didn't  know  how  to  keep  houses  clean, 
children  and  men  fed  on  decent  fare,  because  they  knew 
nothing  at  all  of  the  judicious  use  of  the  family  wage. 
So  Joan  set  herself  to  the  task  of  helping  them  to  learn. 
She  knew  what  enemies  habit  and  ignorance  were,  and 
how  long  it  took  to  conquer  them.  If  she  could  hold 
back  her  pair  of  wild  young  horses  until  the  ground- 
work of  a  new  Farwell  had  been  laid,  then  they  might 
go  ahead  with  some  of  their  radical  changes. 

She  soon  came  upon  the  discovery  that  Dick  and 
Patsy  were  busy  organizing  the  men  and  boys.  The 
Cotton  Cloth  Workers'  Union  sent  a  delegate,  who 
worked  in  secret  with  them,  and  the  men,  assured  of 
Dick's  approval,  were  responding;  enthusiastically. 
Joan  challenged  them  with  it,  and  they  admitted  it. 


THE  THRESHOLD  159 

"But,  Dick,  you  promised  Mr.  Farwell  you  would 
not  make  trouble — "  she  protested. 

"I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying.  These  men  have 
got  a  right  to  organize  and  no  promise  of  mine  to  Uncle 
Greg  is  going  to  stop  them." 

"It  will  mean  a  strike — " 

"What  if  it  does?     The  Company  needs  a  strike." 

"You  must  tell  Mr.  Farwell  what  you're  doing." 

"Not  until  it's  done." 

"It  isn't  fair,  Dick — you've  broken  your  word,  and 
you  ought  to  tell  him." 

"Look  here — what  side  are  you  on,  Uncle  Greg's  or 
mine?"  he  demanded. 

Joan's  heart  stood  still  at  the  question. 

"I  don't  want  to  win  by  broken  promises  and  bad 
faith,  whatever  side  I'm  on,"  she  answered. 

"Very  well — I'll  tell  him  the  day  he  comes  home — " 
he  answered  her  hotly. 

As  it  turned  out  that  retort  committed  him  to 
nothing,  for  Gregory,  finding  how  hard  it  was  to  stay 
away  from  home,  forced  himself  to  extend  his  visit,  as 
a  matter  of  discipline. 

When  his  exile  was  over  he  went  back  to  the  Hall 
with  the  satisfaction  of  a  flagellant,  whose  punishment 
is  behind  him. 

"Have  you  and  Dick  missed  me?"  he  demanded  of 
Joan. 

('Of  course;  we've  been  terribly  busy,"  she  added. 

"Studies  or  village  improvement?" 

"Both." 

She  restrained  any  expression  of  her  real  pleasure 
at  his  return,  because  she  knew  that  the  revelation  Dick 
was  to  make  to  him,  must  be  laid  at  her  door.  She 
hated  her  own  reluctance  to  be  a  party  to  distressing 


160  THE  THRESHOLD 

him.  He,  on  his  part,  misread  her  coolness  and  aloof- 
ness. He  turned  away  with  a  regret  that  something 
fragrant  and  precious  had  gone  from  him. 

Dick  showed  strain  during  dinner,  and  faced  his  duty 
the  minute  they  reached  the  drawing  room. 

"Uncle  Greg,  the  men  at  the  factory  have  organized, 
and  I've  had  a  part  in  it,"  he  began  without  preamble. 

"What's  that?"  Gregory  exclaimed. 

"There  was  no  other  way  for  them  to  get  anything 
done.  Saunders  is  about  as  modern  as  Simon  Legree 
— you  won't  pay  any  attention  to  them,  so  what  could 
they  do?" 

"So  that's  what  you've  been  up  to  in  my  absence," 
remarked  Mr.  Farwcll,  sweeping  them  both  with  the 
same  glance. 

"I  know  I  promised  you  not  to  make  trouble,  but  I 
think  the  right  of  those  men  to  get  some  decencies  is 
.more  important  than  my  promise,"  Dick  went  on. 

"Do  you  approve  of  this?"  Gregory  asked  Joan. 

"I  don't  approve  of  his  breaking  his  promise  to  you 
— I  do  approve  of  the  men  unionizing,"  she  answered 
directly. 

"So  I  have  a  league  against  me,  in  my  own  house." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Greg,  if  you'd  only  come  down  and  see 
for  yourself!" 

"That  will  do.  I  don't  intend  to  be  lectured  by 
any  half-baked  school  boy,  who  has  picked  up  a  dozen 
ideas  about  social  re-organization!  I  was  willing  to 
let  you  and  Miss  Babcock  make  this  experiment  under 
one  condition — you  agreed  to  it.  Now  you  have  seen 
fit  to  disregard  that  promise.  I  am  still  able  to  direct 
my  own  affairs,  grateful  as  I  am  to  you  for  your  inter- 
est. Saunders  will  have  orders  to  dismiss  you  tomor- 
row, Dick." 


THE  THRESHOLD  161 

"You'd  better  not — it  will  mean  trouble.  I'm  a 
good  worker  and  a  member  of  the  union.  You  can't 
throw  me  out  for  no  reason  at  all." 

"Do  I  understand  that  you  are  threatening  me, 
Dick?"  Gregory  inquired,  ominously. 

"I  tell  you,  you'll  get  a  strike,  if  you  have  me  fired 
without  a  cause!"  Dick  cried  excitedly. 

Gregory  laughed  tolerantly.  It  was  the  last  straw 
laid  upon  Dick's  nerves. 

"You  can  stand  there  and  laugh  about  itl  If  you 
know  what  I  know,  you  wouldn't  laugh.  I'd  rather 
be  Nero,  than  you.  He  was  just  a  poor  fool  who 
didn't  know  what  he  was  about — but  you're  a  slacker. 
You  won't  play  the  game  at  all.  There  isn't  a  man 
in  the  works  I  don't  respect  more  than  I  do  you — 
playing  up  here  with  your  doll  rags  while  the  men 
down  there  sweat.  What  kind  of  a  man  are  you, 
anyhow?"  Dick  fairly  screamed,  hysterical  with  ex- 
citement. 

Joan  wanted  to  rush  in  between  them,  or  to  run 
away,  where  she  could  not  hear,  but  she  stood  perfectly 
still  and  waited  for  Gregory  to  speak.  She  saw  the 
slow  fury  mount  his  face.  A  quick  motion  of  his  ha-nd 
swept  a  Chinese  porcelain  bowl  onto  the  hearth  with  a 
crash.  He  spoke  quietly. 

"I  cannot  lose  my  temper  over  a  hysterical  child, 
Dick,  but—" 

"I  can't  stand  you  any  longer — you  make  me — 
sick!"  cried  the  boy  and  rushed  out  of  the  room. 
Presently  they  heard  the  outer  door  slam  and  swift  feet 
on  the  gravel  road.  Joan  stirred.  She  turned  her 
tortured  face  to  Gregory,  with  an  instinct  to  defend 
Dick.  She  felt  she  faced  another  man — not  the  Greg- 
ory she  knew.  He  deliberately  refused  to  see  the 


1 62  THE  THRESHOLD 

appeal  in  her  face.     With  his  foot,  he  brushed  aside 
the  shattered  bowl. 

"There  seems  to  be  considerable  wreckage  here,"  he 
remarked  coolly,  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XX 

GREGORY  sat  in  his  study,  with  an  open  book 
before  him  nearly  all  night,  without  turning  a 
leaf.     He  went  over  every  stage  of  his  life 
with  Dick  from  the  boy's  childhood  up  to  the  present. 
He  discovered  that  his  love  for  him  had  been  the 
central   core   of  his   heart   for  ten  years.     He   had 
counted  on  Dick's  love  for  him.     But  this  strange 
young  woman  could  walk  into  their  lives  and  in  six 
months  arouse  Dick  against  him,  so  that  he  called  him 
Nero,  and  insulted  him  in  every  possible  way. 

It  was  not  that  the  boy  had  attacked  his  motives  and 
his  way  of  living  that  affected  him — he  rated  that  as 
emotionalism,  but  it  hurt  deeply  to  have  him  slam  the 
door,  as  it  were,  upon  all  those  years  of  loving  compan- 
ionship. His  fury  at  the  woman  who  had  brought  this 
disaster  upon  them,  grew  with  what  it  fed  on. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  let  her  have  her  way 
with  the  boy!  He  should  have  issued  orders  in  the 
beginning,  when  he  first  learned  her  background  and 
her  principles,  that  she  was  not  to  proselyte  Dick.  In 
his  hurt  pride,  he  granted  her  no  excuses.  She  had 
lived  under  his  roof,  won  his  friendship  and  betrayed 
him.  He  hated  her.  The  memory  of  how  she  had 
been  in  his  thoughts  all  during  his  absence  from  the 
Hall  made  his  face  burn.  While  he  was  dreaming 
of  her,  she  was  organizing  a  strike  in  his  factory.  She 
had  said  that  Farwell  was  creeping  up  the  hill  toward 
him.  .  .  . 

163 


1 64  THE  THRESHOLD 

Tomorrow  he  would  have  Dick  dismissed.  They 
should  not  intimidate  him,  those  two.  If  the  strike 
came,  he  would  go  to  New  York  and  let  them  fight  it 
out,  as  he  had  on  the  last  occasion  when  there  was 
trouble.  If  Dick  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the 
workers,  he  would  have  to  take  the  consequences. 

He  built  up  a  fine  case  against  her.  He  even  incrim- 
inated Miss  Earl.  She  had  been  particeps  criminis  in 
that  she  had  placed  this  revolutionary  in  his  home. 
He  would  take  occasion  to  call  on  Miss  Earl  and  ex- 
press himself  on  the  matter. 

Probably  Joan  was  a  member  of  some  radical  asso- 
ciation, working  for  labour  interests.  They  had  a  card 
index,  no  doubt,  of  all  the  rich  factory  owners  in  the 
country,  and  the  conditions  existing  in  their  shops. 
Joan  was  probably  called  a  "field  missionary,"  and  it 
was  her  job  to  spy  out  the  situation,  any  way  she  could. 
He  could  fairly  see  her  draw  his  name  out  of  the  filing 
cabinet — "Farwell,  Gregory."  "Ah,  yes,  I  must  try  to 
get  in  with  that  man,"  she  would  say.  She  would  go  to 
this  miserable  Professional  Woman's  Bureau,  and 
either  pull  the  wool  over  poor  Miss  Earl's  eyes,  with 
the  result  that  she  is  placed  in  Farwell  Hall,  or  she 
flatly  confesses  her  intentions  to  that  estimable  lady, 
who  co-operates  with  her! 

Once  in  his  house,  she  had  not  scorned  to  use  every 
means  to  win  his  interest  and  affection,  as  well  as 
Dick's.  She  was  versed  in  all  the  finest  methods  of 
attracting  and  hoodwinking  him.  Even  he,  seasoned 
man  of  the  world,  had  not  entirely  withstood  her  wiles. 
How  could  an  inexperienced  boy,  like  Dick,  be  expected 
to  stand  out  against  her? 

She  had  painted  her  picture  in  vivid  hues,  with  the 
down-trodden  labouring  man  as  the  hero,  his  employer, 


THE  THRESHOLD  165 

as  the  villain.  Ridiculous  1  Everybody  knew  that 
labour  was  the  most  autocratic  organization  on  the 
earth !  That  it  added  to  all  the  other  abuses  of  power 
— ignorance  in  its  use.  Was  she  telling  Dick  that? 
Certainly  not.  She  only  played  on  his  young  intoler- 
ance of  injustice.  She  had  roused  him  to  break  his 
quixotic  lance  against  his  own  class! 

And  he,  fool  that  he  was,  had  stood  by,  smiling  at 
this  tutelage,  sure  of  Dick's  lazy  indifference.  He  had 
discounted  sex.  The  girl  had  roused  the  youngster  to 
a  fierce  knight-errantry.  If  this  was  her  cause,  it 
should  be  his,  too. 

"Fool !  Fool  1"  Gregory  said  over  and  over  to  him- 
self. 

It  must  have  been  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  Joan  came  in  at  the  open  door.  She  had 
not  been  to  bed,  either.  She  was  dressed  as  she  had 
been  for  dinner.  She  was  white  as  a  ghost,  with  dark 
rimmed  eyes.  He  felt  his  heart  instinctively  clamp 
with  pity  for  her,  she  looked  so  young  and  miserable. 
Then  he  steeled  himself. 

"I  saw  your  light.  I  haven't  been  to  bed,  either.  I 
must  go  away  in  the  morning.  I  shall  follow  Dick." 

He  stood  looking  at  her  without  reply. 

"I  thought  perhaps  we  might  tell  each  other  what  we 
were  thinking,  you  down  here,  I  upstairs " 

He  stirred,  impatiently,  she  thought,  so  she  added 
humbly, 

"Just  as — as  two  people  who  have  liked  each  other." 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  not  much  in  the  mood  for  philo- 
sophical discussion,"  he  replied  coolly. 

She  turned  at  that,  and  walked  toward  the  door. 
Something  happened  to  his  composure. 

"You've  made  Dick  hate  me !"  he  burst  out  at  her. 


1 66  THE  THRESHOLD 

She  came  to  him  quickly  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"No  matter  what  you  think  of  me,  you  cannot 
believe  that  I  deliberately  turned  Dick  against  you !" 

"Deliberately  or  not — it's  happened." 

"I  can  understand  how  you  must  feel  about  me.  I 
don't  blame  you  at  all.  I  offer  no  defence — but  mayn't 
I  say  I'm  sorry?" 

"No,  you  may  not.  I  don't  want  your  sympathy.  I 
did  want  your  loyalty,  but  I  find  I  never  had  it." 

"You've  always  had  it.  I  warned  you  at  the  very 
first  what  I  was,  what  I  believed,  what  I  would  teach 
Dick,  if  I  had  the  chance.  You  took  the  risk." 

"But  this  treachery  while  I  was  gone " 

"It  cannot  change  facts  for  me  to  say  that  I  opposed 
the  unionization — that  I  begged  Dick  and  Patrick  to 
wait  until  Dick  was  in  command.  In  the  beginning  I 
was  responsible  for  rousing  Dick,  I  admit  that.  So 
far  as  the  men  in  Farwell  are  concerned,  now  the  or- 
ganization is  done,  I  must  be  glad.  You  can  see  that, 
can't  you?" 

"I  can  see  that  you  have  absolute  dominion  over 
Dick — you  could  have  stopped  it,  if  you  had  wanted  to. 
You  could  have  forced  him  to  keep  his  promise." 

"No,  I  couldn't.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  under- 
stand how  the  whole  situation  has  graduated  out  of  my 
hands.  I've  been  holding  back  wild  horses,  in  your 
absence,  waiting  for  you  to  come  home,  so  I  could  ask 
your  advice — but  now — what's  the  use?" 

"I  told  you  you  would  start  something  you  couldn't 
stop." 

"Does  it  help  any  to  say  that?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  if  there's  a  strike?" 

"Help  the  men." 

"I  shall  dismiss  all  your  friends  in  the  village  and  get 


THE  THRESHOLD  167 

in  new  men  from  elsewhere.  We  won't  have  unions — 
So  that's  all  you  and  Dick  have  accomplished  for 
'them.'  " 

"No,  that  isn't  all.  Whether  you  keep  them  or  send 
them — if  we've  roused  them  to  organize  and  fight  for 
human  rights — they'll  never  be  the  same  again." 

"None  of  us  will  ever  be  the  same  again,"  he  assured 
her. 

"So  be  it,"  she  answered  gravely. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  Dick?" 

"Mr.  Farwell,  Dick  went  on  his  own  when  he  took 
a  job  in  the  factory.  I  didn't  suggest  that,  you  know. 
Ever  since  I've  tried  to  act  as  a  brake  on  his  enthusi- 
asm. He  and  his  friend,  Patsy,  are  too  young  and  too 
ardent  for  change  to  see  that  it  must  come  slowly.  I'm 
afraid  that  they've  got  to  learn  it  through  some  bitter 
experience.  I  shall  not  stand  sponsor  for  all  Dick's 
mistakes!" 

"You  fired  his  imagination  for  these  people " 

"I  urged  you  to  offer  him  an  alternative!" 

"You've  made  life  unbearable  for  me!"  he  accused 
her. 

"And  you  for  me !" 

He  started  at  that. 

"What?" 

"You've  clouded  my  clear-cut  issue,  you've  made  me 
hesitate  and  compromise  with  my  duty,  because  of  my 
sense  of  gratitude  and  loyalty  to  you.  I've  enjoyed 
your  friendship,  I've  loved  my  life  here.  You've 
opened  up  all  sorts  of  new  interests  and  ideas  to  me — 
I've  come  to  understand  your  attitude  toward  the 
world.  I've  handicapped  myself  at  the  very  beginning 
with  affection  for  you  and  Dick.  Where  does  it  take 
me?  Nowhere!  Why  should  I  be  loyal  to  you? 


1 68  THE  THRESHOLD 

Haven't  I  given  you  full  value  for  your  money?  My 
loyalty  belongs  down  there  in  Farwell — I  warn  you 
that  when  I  go,  I'm  free — I  shall  fight  you — "  her 
voice  rose  in  a  climax  of  feeling. 

"Very  well.  I  shall  give  no  quarter  because  of — 
any  affection  for  you  or  for  Dick,"  he  replied  quietly. 

She  felt  his  voice  quiver  at  the  mention  of  the  boy's 
name. 

"Come  down  to  the  village  with  me,  and  meet  us 
half  way,  Gregory  Farwell.  You  wouldn't  fight  us, 
if  you  understood,"  she  cried  to  him,  full  of  pity. 

"No — I  cannot  be  wheedled  nor  threatened.  I  am 
not  concerned  with  the  troubles  of  Farwell.  I  am  cus- 
todian of  the  factory  properties  until  Dick's  majority 
— and  I  shall  conduct  them  as  they  have  always  been 
conducted." 

"You  have  modern  machinery,  not  hand  looms,"  she 
reminded  him. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  if  I  say  our  debates  on  thi« 
matter  lead  nowhere." 

"May  I  say  good-bye  to  you?  I  shall  be  gone  be- 
fore you  breakfast." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  after  a  second's 
hesitation  he  took  it. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Babcock." 

"I'll  look  after  Dick  every  minute,  if  there's  trouble. 
I  can't  say  what  you  and  Dick  and  the  Hall  have  meant 
to  me — "  she  broke  off,  and  went  out  of  the  room  has- 
tily. 

He  lifted  his  head  to  call  her  back — then  with  a  sigh 
he  went  to  the  window  and  raised  the  blinds.  A  cold 
February  dawn  was  settling  on  the  earth.  Gregory 
shivered,  with  a  presentiment  of  misfortune.  What 
had  gone  awry  in  his  world  of  beauty  and  aloofness? 


THE  THRESHOLD  169 

Was  it  that  human  attachment  had  invaded  his  seclu- 
sion? 

First  Dick  had  crept  in,  with  his  happy  boy  ways 
— and  then  Joan.  There  was  no  use  counting  her  out, 
she  was  there,  inside  his  stronghold.  In  the  midst  of 
the  turmoil  of  his  thoughts  and  emotions,  he  was  glad 
that  she  had  said  she  had  affection  for  him.  He  was 
comforted  to  think  that  he  blockaded  her  judgment,  as 
she  did  his.  Verily,  she  spoke  the  truth,  with  her 
phrase,  the  "handicap  of  emotion." 

He  knew  that  sleep  was  impossible.  He  got  a 
greatcoat  from  the  closet,  and  a  cap.  He  chose  a  stout 
stick  and  let  himself  out  into  the  cold  early  morning. 
He  walked  rapidly  to  get  his  blood  to  circulating.  He 
tried  not  to  think.  Something  about  his  interview  with 
Joan  had  taken  away  all  his  pleasure  in  thinking  of  her 
as  a  designing  spy,  set  upon  him  by  the  radicals  he  had 
invented.  She  slipped  into  his  thoughts  as  a  tired, 
white-faced  girl,  crying  out  upon  him  that  he  had 
crippled  her. 

He  tramped  for  miles  over  the  frozen  roads,  and 
through  the  bleak,  bare  woods.  Every  inch  of  the  way 
was  redolent  with  memories  of  hours  spent  with  Dick 
and  Joan,  riding  or  motoring.  It  was  too  sardonic, 
that  these  two  should  be  fighting  him,  as  an  enemy! 
Why,  the  entire  town  of  Farwell,  factories,  workers 
and  all,  was  not  worth  it ! 

He  came  back  hours  later,  physically  tired. 

His  footsteps  fairly  echoed  through  the  empty  hall 
as  he  went  to  his  bedroom.  Tomorrow  he  would  be 
alone  in  this  big  house.  He  would  not  bear  it — he 
would  go  to  New  York  in  the  morning  and  forget  the 
whole  miserable  business.  No — he  would  not  run 
away. 


i  yo  THE  THRESHOLD 

She  had  said  Farwell  was  creeping  up  the  hill — well 
— he  would  cram  it  back  into  its  place  and  hold  it  there. 
They  would  find  him  no  craven  enemy,  those  two,  be- 
cause of  his  lore  for  them ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

JOAN  walked  into  the  village  in  the  early  morning, 
carrying  her  bag.  It  was  cold  and  dispiriting, 
with  no  sun  and  the  mud  on  the  roads  thick.  She 
was  going  into  battle,  as  surely  as  she  was  going  into 
Farwell.  In  the  old  days  she  would  have  been  glad  to 
fight  with  the  workers  for  the  things  she  believed  right, 
but  now,  it  was  not  the  workers  who  occupied  her 
thoughts,  it  was  the  man  on  the  hill,  who  was  deserted 
by  those  he  loved,  because  he  would  not  understand 
one  of  the  great  struggles  of  the  modern  world. 

The  memory  of  Dick's  attack  upon  his  uncle  hurt 
her — dear,  crazy  Dick,  what  was  she  to  do  with  this 
rapidly  burning  fuse  she  had  laid?  Where  and  how 
would  the  explosion  come?  How  many  would  it  de- 
stroy? 

What  ironic  stage  manager  had  lifted  her  from  the 
little  western  town,  set  her  down  here  in  this  eastern 
village,  tied  up  her  heart  strings  with  the  heart  strings 
of  these  two  men  unknown  to  her  a  year  before?  It 
was  so  incredible,  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  part  of 
a  deliberate  plan! 

There  was  the  usual  early  morning  clatter  in  the 
factory  district.  Slatternly  women  were  banging  about 
the  breakfast  pans,  the  children  were  already  swarming 
in  front  of  the  shacks.  Window  shades  were  luxuries 
unknown  to  the  district,  so  in  the  gas-lighted  rooms  be- 
yond, the  men  made  their  frank  toilets.  Smells  of 

171 


172  THE  THRESHOLD 

poor  coffee  and  frying  meat  assaulted  their  nostrils. 
Joan  shivered  at  the  ugliness  of  life  here.  Animals 
were  cleaner  and  more  self-respecting.  She  imagined 
a  whole  new  deal  for  the  factory  district  of  Farwell, 
all  these  old  filthy  shacks  to  be  done  away  with.  A 
half  mile  out  of  the  ugly  town  lay  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  that  beautiful  state.  In  her  mind's  eye,  she  saw 
great  new,  many-windowed  factory  buildings  set  in  the 
nearest  valley,  with  a  spur  of  the  railroad  running  out 
of  it.  The  green  carpet  of  grass  and  vegetation 
stretched  off  on  all  sides  to  rest  the  eyes  lifted  from  the 
drudgery  of  the  looms.  On  the  hills  all  about  were 
the  workers'  cottages,  fresh,  modern  and  pretty. 
They  had  little  gardens  about  them,  of  vegetables  and 
flowers.  There  was  a  schoolhouse,  and  a  church  or 
two,  maybe. 

This  ideal  spot  she  peopled  with  a  revolutionized 
community — women  who  knew  how  to  keep  house,  to 
keep  children  clean  and  decently  clothed;  men  who 
were  interested  in  their  homes,  liked  to  garden  a  bit, 
instead  of  spending  every  night  at  the  saloon.  Neat 
children,  in  a  good  school,  learning  to  be  self-respecting 
citizens.  Her  thoughts  developed  that  ideal  village  as 
she  went  on  to  the  Raffertys,  hoping  to  find  Dick. 

The  children  were  in  all  stages  of  undress,  quarrel- 
ling over  their  garments.  The  confusion  was  disturb- 
ing, but  not  to  Mrs.  Rafferty  who,  clad  in  an  old 
wrapper,  was  busy  over  the  stove.  She  greeted  Joan, 
with  her  habitual  enthusiasm,  and  said  that  Dick  was 
sleeping  in  the  attic.  Patsy  had  gone  up  to  call  him. 
Had  Miss  Babcock  had  her  breakfast?  If  there  was 
anything  odd  in  Dick's  arriving  near  midnight,  asking 
for  a  bed,  and  Joan  appearing  at  seven-thirty,  it  was  no 
concern  of  hers.  Patsy  came  down,  said  Dick  had  not 


THE  THRESHOLD  173 

undressed  at  all,  and  suggested  that  Joan  go  up  and  see 
him. 

So  she  climbed  the  ladder-like  stairs  up  into  Dick's 
retreat.  There  was  no  window — it  was  dark  and 
stuffy.  The  only  light  came  from  the  door  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs.  He  was  sitting  on  an  old  broken  chair, 
his  head  in  his  hands,  and  did  not  look  up  until  she 
spoke  to  him.  Then  he  started  to  his  feet,  stumbled 
toward  her,  put  his  arms  about  her,  his  head  bent  down 
upon  her  little  soft  felt  hat.  She  put  her  arms  around 
him,  and  they  stood  so,  in  silence  for  several  seconds. 

"I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  come,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Not  come,  Dick?" 

"I  thought  you  might  side  with  Uncle  Greg." 

"How  could  I,  Dick?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"It  was  dreadful  to  hear  you  attack  him " 

"I  can't  help  it — I've  kept  my  mouth  shut  as  long  as 
I  could,"  sullenly. 

"All  right — we  won't  talk  about  it.  We've  neither 
of  us  had  any  sleep.  We  must  make  up  our  minds 
what  we  are  going  to  do,  now." 

"Now?" 

"We  must  find  some  place  to  live,  on  what  money 
we  have.  I've  got  some  savings,  so  even  if  you  do  lose 
your  six  dollars  a  week,  we  can  manage." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that." 

She  smiled,  he  was  such  a  baby.  She  took  the 
broken  chair  and  he  sat  on  the  floor  before  her  and  they 
went  over  the  situation.  She  would  get  board  and 
room,  outside  the  district,  in  the  town  proper.  He 
might  buy  a  cot  and  blankets  and  stay  with  the 
Raffertys,  if  they  would  take  him. 
.  "They'll  take  me — they're  the  best  friends  I  ever 


i74  THE  THRESHOLD 

had — always  stand  by  and  no  questions  asked.  But 
I'm  sure  I'll  get  my  allowance,  Joan,  and  I've  got  some 
money  in  the  bank." 

So  the  first  step  was  decided  on,  and  they  descended 
to  the  family  circle  with  their  proposition,  which  was 
at  once  accepted.  Dick  could  have  his  cot  in  the  par- 
lour, and  welcome. 

"Patsy,  what  will  happen,  if  Dick  loses  his  job?" 
Joan  asked. 

«I  dunno " 

"Are  you  planning  a  strike  soon?" 

"I  ain't  plannin'  nuthin',"  he  teased  her. 

"I  wish  you  could  get  them  to  begin  easy — make  de- 
mands that  could  be  granted  without  making  Mr.  Far- 
well  seem  to  give  in." 

"Well,  they  won't.  We've  had  all  the  givin'  in  we 
want,"  he  replied. 

Joan  could  not  get  anything  more  out  of  him,  as  to 
the  Union's  program.  So  she  started  off  to  look  for 
an  abiding  place. 

"Do  go  slow,  boys,"  she  begged  them. 

The  whistle  blew  and  the  two  boys  went  to  their 
work.  Nothing  happened.  Dick  began  to  breathe 
more  easily — maybe  Uncle  Greg  had  changed  his  mind. 
He  was  glad  to  escape  the  crisis,  because  he  hated  to 
remember  how  the  older  man  looked,  when  he  had 
blazed  out  at  him.  He  didn't  want  to  hurt  him — he 
didn't  want  trouble  with  him — but — 

Larsen  sauntered  over  to  him. 

"Saunders  wants  ye,"  he  remarked. 

It  had  come.  Dick  handed  over  his  machine  to  a 
substitute  and  walked  out  of  the  shop,  into  Saunders' 
office.  That  dignitary  looked  up. 


THE  THRESHOLD  175 

"Wages  up  to  this  morning,  Norton.  We  don't 
need  you  here  any  longer." 

"Why  not?     Don't  I  do  the  work  all  right?" 

"Get  out  I"  thundered  Saunders. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  here  when  I  come  to  run  the  fac- 
tory," said  Dick  sweetly. 

Saunders  looked  up  and  laughed,  a  sneering  sound 
of  derision  at  a  child.  Dick  never  knew  what  hap- 
pened, only  his  fist  landed  in  Saunders'  face,  Saunders 
came  at  him,  and  they  had  at  each  other.  A  long 
time  afterward,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  Larsen  came  to 
help  the  manager,  and  Dick  landed  out  on  the  gravel 
walk,  groggy  and  bleeding  at  the  nose.  He  sat  still 
for  a  little,  getting  his  thoughts  sorted  out,  and  then 
betook  himself  to  Mrs.  Rafferty's  for  cold  water  and 
first  aid. 

"Per  the  love  av  Mike,  phwat  happened  to  ye?"  she 
demanded. 

"I  went  at  Saunders — "  he  began. 

"Saunders,  is  ut?  Well — put  yer  nose  in  this,"  she 
ordered,  offering  a  tin  basin  of  water.  She  got  the 
whole  story  as  the  boy  remembered  it. 

"There's  no  more  justice  round  here,  than  there  is 
in  a  jail,"  he  exclaimed.  "He  had  no  right  to  throw 
me  out.  I  was  doing  my  work." 

"Sure  Saunders  don't  care  'bout  no  rights." 

"Well— we'll  show  him/"  said  Dick. 

"Darlin' — they'll  git  us  ivry  toime.  They  can 
starve  us,"  the  old  Irish  woman  said  with  finality. 

Dick  sat  by  the  window,  his  hands  working  nerv- 
ously, looking  out,  saying  nothing  for  hours,  until  the 
whistle  blew.  Then  he  went  out  and  over  to  the  lot, 
where  the  workers  crossed  from  the  factory  to  the 


i76  THE  THRESHOLD 

town.  He  got  an  old  box  which  he  placed  carefully, 
and  when  the  procession  began  to  come  along,  calling 
out  to  him  and  chaffing  him,  he  stopped  them,  asked 
them  to  wait  a  minute.  Patsy  appeared,  serious-eyed 
and  called  out  to  him, 

"What  happened,  Dick?" 

"He  threw  me  out — he  and  Larsen  together,  but  I 
smashed  him  one  in  the  nose  before  they  got  me." 

"Look  here,  fellows,  you  all  know  Dick — how  he 
took  a  job  along  wit'  de  rest  av  us  to  foind  out  phwat 
we  need  an'  all,  in  the  shops.  Ye  know  he's  a  noice 
fella — no  soide — jest  wan  av  us.  Ye  know  how  he 
tould  us,  'Go  ahead  with  the  unions,  it's  the  only  self- 
respictin'  way  fer  the  workin'  man' — ye  know  that, 
don't  ye?" 

"Sure,  we  know  ut!"  came  the  answer. 

"He's  goin'  to  be  the  boss  here  some  day,  an'  he 
ackchully  wants  us  to  live  decent  an'  git  some  pleasure 
out  o'  loife." 

"Good  fer  Dick!" 

"Ye  all  know  King  Farwell " 

"Aw — "  came  the  rumble  of  anger. 

"Well,  he's  sore  on  this  union  job  an'  he's  afther 
Dick " 

"To  hell  wit'  him!"  shouted  a  voice. 

"No — look  here  a  minute,  fellows,"  Dick  began. 
The  crowd  by  this  time  had  grown  to  full  size.  Prac- 
tically all  the  workers  were  in  the  field  surrounding 
him.  He  got  up  on  his  box  and  faced  them.  Joan 
sighted  him  afar  and  hurried  to  the  edge  of  the  crowd. 

"I  know  you  hate  my  uncle,  because  you  think  he's 
responsible  for  things  down  here — but  he  isn't.  He 
don't  know  anything  about  how  things  are  in  the  town 
— he  leaves  it  to  Saunders " 


THE  THRESHOLD  177 

"That's  enuff  against  him!" 

"He  can't  get  interested  in  the  factory.  I  don't 
blame  him — he's  all  right.  You'd  like  him,  if  you 
knew  him — " 

"Yes — we  would!  Say,  Dick,  quit  yer  kiddin' !" 
they  hooted. 

"Saunders  don't  believe  in  unions,  so  he  makes  Uncle 
Greg  think  they're  the  limit." 

"Does  Saunders  have  to  tell  him  what  he  thinks,  the 
poor  nut?" 

"Never  mind  about  him.  He's  just  running  this 
factory  until  I'm  of  age.  I  inherit  it  from  my  grand- 
father, and  I  can  do  what  I  want  with  it,  then,  but 
Uncle  Greg  and  Saunders  don't  want  me  to  butt  in 
now." 

"Ye  bet  they  don't." 

"When  I  took  the  job,  I  promised  I  wouldn't  stir 
up  trouble  down  here,  but  I  didn't  keep  my  word — — " 

"Good  feryou!" 

"No — I'm  sorry  I  couldn't,  but  I  thought  it  was  your 
duty  to  organize,  so  I  helped  you  do  it.  Uncle  Greg 
was  furious  and  he  ordered  Saunders  to  dismiss  me." 

"We'll  make  him  take  ye  back!"  came  the  answer. 

"He'll  take  ye  back  or  we'll  pull  off  a  strike,"  cried 
Patsy. 

"Sure!     That's  the  idea!" 

They  took  it  up  with  shouts.  The  women  and  chil- 
dren were  all  hurrying  from  the  shanties  to  join  the 
crowd. 

"Let  Patsy  an'  two  other  fellas  wait  an'  see  Saunders 
as  soon  as  the  whistle  blows,  an'  tell  him  our  say,"  cried 
a  man. 

They  greeted  the  idea  with  applause.  The  commit- 
tee was  appointed  then  and  there. 


178  THE  THRESHOLD 

"We  want  a  representation  on  that  committee," 
shouted  a  girl. 

There  was  laughter  at  that. 

"Sure,  give  the  gurls  a  chanct.  They  got  a  union, 
too,  ain't  they?" 

"Well,  we  can  run  the  factory  without  ye — ye  better 
look  out  fer  us — " 

"That's  right — votes  fer  wimmen!"  jeered  the  men 
good-naturedly.  A  girl  was  added  to  the  commission, 
and  they  were  about  to  go  to  their  dinners  when  Dick 
made  another  speech,  brief,  but  earnest. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  I  appreciate  your  standing  by 
me  like  this.  I  hope  I  can  stand  by  you  all,  some 
day!"  he  said,  with  feeling. 

"Three  times  three  for  Dick — the  Union  employ- 
er!" called  Patsy.  They  gave  it  with  a  will,  hats  were 
flung  up,  hands  were  shaken.  Joan  watched  it  with 
foreboding.  How  often  had  she  seen  the  holiday 
spirit  seize  upon  a  crowd,  when  strike  was  called.  It 
meant  change,  something  doing.  No  wonder  they  wel- 
comed it.  But  in  her  mind's  eye  were  the  later  days, 
when  faces  grew  pinched,  women  bitter  and  men  anx- 
ious. How  futile  to  have  thought  that  that  curly- 
headed,  excited  lad  out  there  could  help  with  this  prob- 
lem! Where  was  he  leading  them — these  childlike 
victims  of  our  system?  No  vision,  no  plan,  no  fore- 
sight for  them — just  one  blundering  step  at  a 
time.  .  .  .  And  she  was  responsible  for  the  whole 
situation  here.  She  went  away  without  seeing  Dick 
and  Patsy. 

At  one  o'clock  the  workers  were  at  their  machines. 
At  one  fifteen,  the  committee  went  into  Saunders'  office. 
At  one  twenty-five,  at  a  signal  agreed  upon,  the  ma- 


THE  THRESHOLD  179 

chines  all  stopped — the  workers  walked  out.     In  the 
dooryard  the  committee  waited. 

"He  won't  even  listen  to  us,"  Patsy  explained  to 
them.  "We  told  him  the  Union  wouldn't  stand  havin' 
its  members  dismissed  without  cause.  He  laughed  at 
us.  Said  he  hadn't  heard  we  had  a  union.  The  Com- 
pany did  not  recognize  it,  if  we  had.  It's  up  to  us 
now — we've  called  a  strike  1" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  workers  got  in  touch  with  the  union  head- 
quarters in  a  near  by  city  by  telephone,  and  two 
hours  after  the  strike  was  called,  a  union  strike 
manager  was  on  the  way  to  Farwell.  The  men  loafed 
about,  talking  and  smoking.  Grady's  saloon  was  head- 
quarters, as  usual.  The  women  wandered  around  aim- 
lessly, gossiping  together.  Everywhere  was  felt  the 
sudden  let-down  that  inaugurates  a  strike. 

Jergens  had  dashed  into  town  half  an  hour  after  the 
shut  down,  and  carried  Saunders  off  to  the  Hall.  Joan 
and  Dick  saw  the  car  with  the  manager. 

"Poor  Uncle  Greg,  he's  got  to  think  about  us,  now," 
remarked  Dick. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Patsy  says  they'll  bring  in  scabs,"  he  continued. 

"Probably." 

"And  some  of  these  fellows  have  worked  for  us  for 
five  years — "  bitterly. 

"It's  all  useless — it  could  be  compromised,"  she 
sighed. 

"Fat  lot  of  compromising  to  be  expected  from  that 
old  crab  Saunders !" 

Meanwhile,  Saunders  retailed  the  story  of  Dick's 
dismissal  to  Mr.  Farwell. 

"But  why  did  he  hit  you?"  Mr.  Farwell  interrupted. 

"He  asked  me  wasn't  he  doin'  his  work  all  right,  an' 
I  told  him  to  git  out.  With  that  he  flung  hisself  on 
me  like  a  tiger,  hittin'  an'  scratchin'." 


THE  THRESHOLD  181 

"And  how  was  he  doing  his  work,  Saunders?"  Greg- 
ory inquired  with  interest. 

"He  was  doin'  all  right — no  complaint  from  the 
foreman." 

Gregory  sighed. 

"It  was  because  he  was  thrown  out  without  any  ex- 
cuse that  they  called  this  strike?" 

"Yes— sir." 

"Saunders,  considering  the  fact  that  my  guardian- 
ship of  Dick's  property  has  been  the  most  exhausting 
and  tiresome  responsibility  of  my  life,  does  it  strike 
you  as  rather  humorous  that  Dick  leads  a  strike  of  his 
own  workmen  against  his  own  business?" 

Mr.  Farwell  always  terrified  Saunders.  He  never 
could  make  him  out. 

"I  don't  see  anything  funny  about  this  here  fight. 
Of  course  we  ain't  recognized  the  unions,  but  I  guess 
they're  purty  well  organized  this  time,  thanks  to  your 
nephew  and  that  devil  Rafferty." 

"We  can't  run  with  women,  plus  a  few  extras  from 
outside?" 

"The  wimmen  are  in  ut.     They  got  a  union." 

"Have  they?  I  suppose  they  would  have  with 
Dick  as  leader.  Dick  seems  to  be  much  more  able 
than  I  suspected.  Well,  what's  to  be  done,  Saun- 
ders?" 

"Shut  down,  or  get  a  carload  of  strike  breakers  like 
we  done  before,  an'  show  'em  we  mean  business." 

"That  means  trouble  and  broken  heads,"  protested 
Mr.  Farwell. 

"That's  the  only  way  ye  can  handle  'em.  I  know 
'em.  Give  'em  an  inch  an'  they  take  a  mile." 

"My  nephew  and  Miss  Babcock  tell  me  the  condi- 
tions in  the  place  are  scandalous." 


1 82  THE  THRESHOLD 

"They  ain't  so  good,  an'  they  ain't  so  bad,"  replied 
Saunders.  "I've  seen  worse." 

"If  you  took  Dick  back  would  they  go  to  work?" 
"I  dunno.     I  guess  they're  lookin'  fer  trouble." 
"What  would  they  want,  if  we  met  them  half  way?" 
"Lord  only  knows.     A  raise  will  come  first — we'll 
get  that  anyhow,  now  they're  organized — they'll  want 
us  to  recognize  the  union — they  may  want  new  factories 
entirely — ye  never  can  tell." 

"You  think  we'd  better  fight  them?" 
"I  do." 

"I  hope  you  are  saving  enough  to  retire  on  when  my 
nephew  comes  of  age,  Saunders,"  remarked  Mr. 
Farwell. 

"I  am,"  replied  the  dour  one,  with  a  grin. 
"The  cottages,  I  suppose,  are  not  models?" 
"Not  exactly.     They're  purty  bad,  I  guess.     Rotten 
plumbin'  an'  leakin'  roofs,  they  say — an' — " 

"No  details,  Saunders.  My  nephew  will  undoubt- 
edly rebuild  them." 

"They  could  be  patched  up  all  right " 

"You  don't  believe  in  model  cottages?" 
"What's  the  use?     They'll  abuse  'em  just  the  same. 
Ye  ain't  got  no  model  tenants  for  yer  model  cottages." 
"You  worked  your  way  up  out  of  that  group,  didn't 
you,  Saunders?" 

"I  did,  an'  I  know  'em.  No  brains,  an'  they  won't 
learn." 

"It  might  cause  considerable  inconvenience  to  all  of 
us,  Saunders,  if  they  suddenly  discovered  brains,  and 
began  to  learn..  Beginning  to  learn  is  the  trouble. 
That  is  what  has  happened  to  my  nephew.  That  is  the 
reason  of  all  this  disturbance.  It  almost  makes  you 
believe  in  complete  ignorance,  Saunders." 


THE  THRESHOLD  183 

The  manager  stirred  uneasily,  and  made  an  effort  to 
get  back  to  facts. 

"Ye  don't  want  me  to  give  in  to  'em,  do  ye?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do,  so  long  as  I  do  not  have 
to  decide  it.  I  employ  you  to  run  those  hateful  facto- 
ries, Saunders." 

"There'll  be  no  givin'  in,  if  ye  leave  it  to  me.  I'll 
stand  for  no  unions,  neither.  The  minute  ye  give  'em 
the  right  to  shoot  off  their  gab  on  this  an'  that,  ye've 
got  trouble." 

"Gab  certainly  seems  responsible  for  a  great  deal,  I 
admit.  I  don't  intend  to  take  part  in  this  affair,  so  I 
may  as  well  leave  it  to  you.  I'd  like  to  be  sure  that  no 
harm  would  come  to  my  nephew  and  Miss  Babcock — " 
he  ended  anxiously. 

"Send  'em  word  to  keep  out  of  the  fight,  Mr.  Far- 
well.  Strike-breakers  ain't  no  respecters  of  persons," 
Saunders  advised,  rising  to  go. 

"I'm  afraid  they  would  scorn  my  advice,  Saunders. 
I'm  sorry  you've  got  this  trouble  on  your  hands.  By 
the  way,  no  shooting,  Saunders,"  he  said  in  farewell. 

The  six  o'clock  train  began  to  bring  in  men  with 
camp  outfits.  Later  trains  added  to  the  number.  By 
nine  o'clock  a  tent  village  was  growing  on  the  lots 
around  the  factory. 

"Scabs  are  coming,"  the  news  ran  through  the  dis- 
trict. A  crowd  began  to  collect  on  the  edge  of  the 
field,  watching  the  proceedings,  and  hooting  at  them. 
There  were  some  big  plug-uglies  on  guard,  while  the 
tent  men  worked,  and  they  preserved  a  sullen  silence  in 
the  face  of  all  insults.  The  crowd  was  good-natured 
enough — it  offered  no  violence.  By  midnight  the  tent 
city  was  ready.  Cots,  blankets  and  the  commissariat 
department  would  follow  in  the  morning.  This  whole 


1 84  THE  THRESHOLD 

show  had  been  performed  for  the  workers'  benefit,  the 
last  time  there  had  been  trouble.  On  that  occasion 
the  Company  had  won.  It  had  been  a  nasty  business, 
the  attempt  to  dislodge  the  scabs,  who  were  drilled  and 
organized.  There  was  hunger  to  contend  with,  too. 
None  of  them  liked  to  remember  it. 

"They'll  try  to  get  thim  in  before  mornin',  byes. 
Let's  be  at  the  station  a-waitin'  fer  'em,"  called  Patsy, 
when  the  tent  raisers  had  finished  work. 

So  they  all  started  through  the  town,  and  surrounded 
the  railroad  station,  good-naturedly  chaffing  and  guy- 
ing. There  were  men  and  girls  both.  Patsy  and  Dick 
were  in  the  forefront  of  the  crowd  and  Joan  followed 
with  Mrs.  Rafferty,  who  came  for  the  fun  of  it. 
Nearly  the  whole  factory  district  was  there. 

It  was  very  chilly  in  the  early  morning;  the  light 
from  the  old  acetylene  gas  lamps  threw  grotesque  shad- 
ows on  the  crowd.  They  stamped  their  feet  and 
clapped  their  hands  to  keep  warm.  The  town  police- 
man came  to  inspect  them,  and  had  an  ovation.  They 
cheered  him,  and  begged  him  to  be  ready  to  arrest 
them,  in  case  of  trouble.  They  all  knew  "the  old 
Cop"  as  they  called  him,  and  as  a  representative  of 
law,  he  had  not  much  weight.  He  shook  his  billy  at 
them  and  hurried  off  to  telephone  the  Mayor. 

That  dignitary  was  in  bed,  sound  asleep,  but  old 
Cop's  news  aroused  him.  He  got  out  of  his  bed  and 
appeared  shortly  at  the  station,  with  the  entire  police 
force,  consisting  of  three  elderly  policemen.  Card 
was  rapturously  received,  but  when  he  attempted  to 
harangue  the  crowd,  urging  law  and  order,  and  recall- 
ing the  experiences  of  the  last  strike,  they  interrupted 
him  with  cat  calls  and  derision.  They  knew  him  for 
their  enemy,  and  his  assurances  of  friendly  protection 


THE  THRESHOLD  185 

in  return  for  order,  were  valued  at  their  true  worth. 
They  knew  Card  would  never  forget  their  opposition 
in  the  late  election.  Ben  Card  went  away,  black  with 
rage,  and  hurried  from  house  to  house  to  arouse  and 
swear  in  special  police.  He  managed  to  commandeer 
eight  men,  with  great  effort.  He  ordered  them  all  to 
the  station  at  once,  armed. 

The  crowd  was  dancing  and  singing  in  a  vain  attempt 
to  keep  warm,  when  the  3  o'clock  train  brought  in 
twenty  men  under  protection.  The  guards  jostled  the 
crowd  to  open  up  a  way  for  their  men.  The  crowd 
began  to  push  and  close  in  on  them,  meantime  yelling 
"Scab!"  at  the  strike  breakers.  Just  at  this  juncture, 
Ben  Card  and  the  new  deputies  arrived  on  the  run. 
They  waited  to  ask  no  questions.  They  plunged  in, 
revolvers  drawn,  ordering  the  crowd  back. 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  Ben,"  some  one  called  good- 
naturedly. 

It  might  have  been  all  right  if  an  excited  new  police- 
man hadn't  been  roughly  shoved  by  some  one  in  the 
crowd.  He  thought  he  was  attacked  and  he  shot  his 
revolver  full  into  the  mass.  The  bullet  struck  the  leg 
of  the  big  guard,  trying  to  beat  a  way  through  for  the 
scabs,  and  he  went  down  with  a  howl.  That  set  tem- 
pers afire. 

Men  began  to  slug — women,  crushed  in  the  midst  of 
the  mob,  began  to  scream,  and  try  to  fight  their  way 
out.  Ben  Card  urged  his  men  to  use  clubs.  He 
threatened  to  shoot  if  the  crowd  did  not  obey  orders. 
In  the  midst  of  it  a  train  unloaded  another  delegation, 
this  time  much  larger.  They  saw  the  situation  and 
tried  to  make  a  detour,  and  head  for  the  tent  city,  but 
the  strikers  caught  the  idea  and  went  after  them,  too. 

The  first  company  joined  the  second,  taking  advan- 


1 86  THE  THRESHOLD 

tage  of  the  lull.  The  scab  leaders  had  had  orders 
not  to  give  fight,  if  they  could  avoid  it,  so  they  ordered 
the  men  to  set  out  on  a  run,  the  insurgents  in  hot  pur- 
suit. Joan  and  Dick  and  Patsy  were  an  integral  part 
of  the  mob  now.  Hot,  blood-thirsty  and  furious,  they 
ran,  throwing  rocks  or  anything  they  could  lay  hands 
to.  Card  was  knocked  out  with  some  missile  and  had 
to  be  carried  home. 

Arrived  at  the  vacant  lot  where  they  were  to  camp, 
the  scabs  stood  and  gave  battle.  Most  of  the  strikers 
had  some  sort  of  weapons  now.  There  was  shouting 
and  yelling — there  were  grunts  and  howls  of  pain. 
The  special  police  shot  once  or  twice,  but  no  one  was 
hit,  thanks  to  their  bad  aim.  The  grey  dawn  showed 
bloody  faces,  streaming  hair,  torn  clothes.  .  .  . 

Most  of  the  tent  guards  had  been  called  in  to  help, 
so  Dick  and  Patsy  slipped  about  cutting  the  ropes  of 
the  tents  where  they  could.  It  gave  Dick  an  idea. 

"Look  here — let's  get  into  the  factory  and  break  the 
machines  so  the  scabs  can't  use  'em." 

"But  they're  your  machines,"  protested  Patsy. 

"I  don't  care  if  they  are — I  want  'em  broken !"  cried 
Dick.  "Come  on — now's  the  time — they're  all  mixed 
up  in  the  fight  and  Card  is  out  of  it." 

"All  right — I  know  where  Larsen  keeps  the  tools — 
if  we  can  get  inside —  Sneak  round  the  shanties  to  the 
other  door." 

They  started  running.  Joan  saw  them  and  fol- 
lowed. She  caught  up,  as  they  reached  the  far  side  of 
the  factory. 

"It's  Joan,  boys,  what's  up?"  she  called  as  they 
turned  on  her. 

"Going  to  smash  the  machines,"  replied  Dick. 


THE  THRESHOLD  187 

"Dick — they'll  shoot  you  if  they  catch  you.  Card 
is  ready  to  do  anything — " 

"Let  him.  He's  out  of  it,  for  now.  Here,  Pat, 
kick  in  this  cellar  window,"  he  ordered.  "You  stay 
here  and  give  us  a  warning,  if  they  come,  Joan." 

"Oh,  Patsy — don't  let  him  do  it — "  she  begged. 

"I  can't  stop  Mm!"  said  the  Irishman,  disappearing 
into  the  blackness  within,  followed  by  Dick.  They 
knew  their  way  about,  so  they  ran  for  the  tools.  At 
the  door  of  the  closet,  Dick  whispered. 

"Pat,  look!  Wasn't  that  a  flashlight?"  The  Irish- 
man stared  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"I  saw  nuthin'." 

"I  was  sure,"  Dick  said. 

"Must  'a  been  the  loight  outside  a-flickerin' — " 

"Maybe — go  ahead — hand  out  the  tools." 

They  ran  toward  the  biggest  machine.  Patsy  knew 
the  mechanism  best,  so  he  gave  orders  as  to  which  part 
to  attack,  and  how  to  disable  it  most  completely  in  the 
shortest  time.  There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  great, 
dark  place,  save  for  their  panting  breath. 

As  Dick  worked,  he  remembered  his  first  impression 
of  big  elephants,  tended  by  men.  Would  they  perhaps 
turn  upon  their  servants,  who  were  daring  to  disable 
them.  He  looked  about  in  swift  apprehension.  If 
they  should  close  in  upon  Patsy  and  himself — if  they 
should  destroy  their  traitorous  keepers.  .  .  . 

Joan  waited  what  seemed  to  her  ages,  then  she  heard 
blows  inside  and  the  crash  of  things  falling.  Off  in 
the  field  the  fighting  and  shouting  kept  up.  The 
sounds  inside  ceased,  but  the  boys  did  not  come  out. 
She  waited  and  waited — then  she  began  to  call  softly. 
Finally  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  She  climbed 


1 88  THE  THRESHOLD 

through  the  broken  window  and  began  to  clutch  her 
way  toward  the  direction  of  the  stairs. 

She  groped  up,  and  into  the  main  room  of  the  fac- 
tory. A  single  gas  lamp  out  in  front,  threw  a  waver- 
ing shaft  of  light  across  the  place.  The  two  boys 
were  busy,  apparently  trying  to  unscrew  some  part  of 
a  machine.  They  worked  feverishly  and  in  silence. 

Before  she  could  speak,  out  of  the  shadows  behind 
them  a  figure  sprang  upon  Dick's  back.  The  impact 
bore  him  to  the  ground.  Patsy  went  down  on  the 
writhing  mass,  and  managed  to  get  the  assailant's  re- 
volver. 

Joan  never  hesitated.  She  had  told  Gregory  that 
she  would  look  after  Dick.  Suddenly  a  piece  of  the 
dismantled  machine  appeared  in  her  hand — she  did  not 
know  how.  She  ran  to  the  panting  group  and  waited. 
Patsy  was  trying  to  pull  the  man  off  Dick.  When  the 
right  head  came  up  in  the  scrimmage,  she  hit  it.  The 
man  fell  on  Dick,  inertly.  Patsy,  who  was  hammer- 
ing at  him,  drew  back.  Joan  helped  him  pull  the  man 
off  and  Dick  got  up.  They  all  peered  at  the  motion- 
less man. 

"Good  God — it's  Saunders!"  said  Dick. 
-."Did  I  kill  him?"  Joan  asked. 

Patsy  laid  his  ear  to  his  heart. 

"No — we'd  better  get  out  of  this." 

"Get  back  to  the  crowd,"  Joan  urged. 

They  ran  swiftly  down  the  stairs  and  out. 

"Make  fer  the  shanties!"  panted  Patsy. 

"Oh — I  hope  I  didn't  kill  him!"  groaned  Joan,  as 
they  ran. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FROM  the  moment  when  scabs  were  brought  into 
Farwell,  events  began  to  unroll  like  a  huge  ball 
of  twine,  darting  here  and  there  without  direc- 
tion, tangling  itself  as  it  went  faster.  The  morning 
after  the  strike  breakers  arrived,  an  anonymous  scrawl 
urged  Ben  Card  to  search  the  factory.  Saunders  was 
found,  delirious,  from  a  concussion  of  the  brain.  The 
damage  done  the  machines  was  not  very  important,  but 
it  showed  that  the  strikers  had  been  at  the  work  of 
destruction  when  Saunders  came  upon  them.  He 
could  probably  tell  who  the  offenders  were  when  he 
recovered  sufficiently  to  speak.  For  the  present  he 
was  of  no  value  as  a  witness.  There  was  no  suspicion 
as  to  his  assailants,  because  in  the  confusion  of  the 
night  before,  nobody  could  be  accounted  for.  He  was 
taken  to  his  home,  and  word  sent  to  Mr.  Farwell. 

Larsen  had  orders  from  the  Hall  to  assume  com- 
mand, to  put  the  new  men  to  work,  and  to  withstand 
any  attack  from  the  strikers.  He  was  told  also  to  send 
for  machinists  to  mend  the  broken  property  and  he 
was  to  guard  the  shops  from  now  on. 

The  boys  congratulated  themselves  upon  the  success 
of  their  efforts,  as  well  as  their  get-away.  But  they 
had  some  difficulty  with  Joan. 

"If  Saunders  dies,  you  know,  they  can  get  me  for 
murder,"  she  remarked. 

"But  they  won't  get  you — there's  no  evidence. 

189 


1 90  THE  THRESHOLD 

How  would  they  ever  think  of  your  being  there,  to  say 
nothing  of  busting  old  Saunders'  coco?"  Dick  pro- 
tested. 

"They  have  ways  of  finding  these  things  out,"  she 
replied. 

"But  you  aren't  even  a  stroiker !"  Patsy  said. 

"Isn't  she,  though?  Didn't  you  see  her  land  on 
Saunders?"  questioned  Dick,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  Dick,  don't  joke  about  it!" 

"All  right,  but  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  work  up  any 
conscience  about  it.  Would  you  rather  I  had  concus- 
sion of  the  brain,  than  Saunders?" 

"Don't  be  silly." 

"If  you  hadn't  cracked  him,  I  would  be  dead.  It 
was  great!  It  was  worth  my  close  shave,  just  to  sec 
you  do  it,  Joan,"  he  said  admiringly. 

"If  he  only  won't  die!" 

"If  he  only  won't  get  well  and  squeal  on  us!"  inter- 
rupted Patsy.  "That's  all  I'm  worryin'  over.  He 
saw  us,  all  roight,  an'  he  knew  us.  He's  got  no  special 
love  for  me  an'  Dick." 

"That's  true,"  sighed  Joan. 

"I'd  rather  he'd  croak  than  git  his  sinses  back," 
Patsy  remarked. 

"Cut  it  out — don't  even  think  about  it.  We  don't 
know  anything  about  the  business,"  Dick  said. 

"By  the  way,  who  hit  Ben  Card?"  inquired  Joan. 

"Ain't  it  funny,  the  way  wimmen  has  got  to  know 
names  an'  dates?" 

"I've  got  an  alibi — I  didn't  even  know  he  was  out 
of  the  running,"  Dick  said. 

"I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  seem  to  remimber  a  big 
loomp  of  clay  jumpin'  up  into  my  fist  an'  remarkin' — 
*How  I  would  loike  to  hit  the  respicted  Mayor  av  this 


THE  THRESHOLD  191 

town  on  the  nut !'  and  shortly  after  that  I  saw  the  thing 
land,  an'  Card  took  out  time  !" 

They  all  laughed  at  him,  ending  that  discussion. 

Patsy  and  Dick  tried  to  get  the  men  to  organize 
some  sort  of  ordered  resistance,  to  be  ready  at  the 
time  the  strike  breakers  were  marched  to  the  factory, 
but  it  could  not  be  done.  The  mob  spirit  was  loose, 
and  they  could  not  be  made  to  obey  orders.  They  bus- 
ily piled  up  a  supply  of  rocks,  old  vegetables  and  other 
missiles,  but  they  had  no  interest  in  Dick's  idea  of  form- 
ing companies  and  attacking  in  relays. 

Joan  tried  her  hand  with  the  women. 

"We  can't  beat  them  with  force,  because  they  are 
drilled  and  ready  for  us.  We've  got  to  use  brains. 
Let  the  men  do  the  fighting  at  the  factory,  but  we  must 
find  a  way  to  work  in  the  tent  town.  If  we  could 
damage  the  food  supply  there,  or  cut  the  tent  guy 
ropes,  it  would  do  more  good  than  getting  our  heads 
broken  in  a  scrap,"  she  said  to  them. 

They  listened  to  her,  and  the  result  was  scouting 
parties  of  women  to  watch  the  station  for  incoming 
supplies  for  the  camp,  to  patrol  the  tent  colony  looking 
for  a  chance  to  dump  bags  of  dirt,  which  they  carried, 
into  the  food,  and  to  generally  conduct  a  destructive 
campaign. 

When  the  strike  breakers  started  for  the  factory 
under  a  guard  of  huskies,  augmented  by  Card's  special 
police,  the  men  were  ready  for  them,  armed  with  clubs, 
and  anything  else  they  could  carry.  They  had  thrown 
up  a  rough  sort  of  protection  across  one  end  of  the 
factory  door  yard,  behind  which  they  could  stand  and 
throw  missiles.  The  guard  started  them  on  the  double 
quick,  the  strikers  keeping  pace. 
,  "What's  yer  hurry,  scabbies?"  cried  Patsy.  As  they 


1 92  THE  THRESHOLD 

approached  the  factory  building,  the  scabs  saw  the  re- 
serves all  ready  for  them  behind  the  redoubts.  They 
increased  their  pace  to  a  run.  The  air  was  suddenly 
full  of  bricks,  rocks,  eggs  and  other  offensive  foreign 
matter.  Hisses  and  hoots,  cat-calls,  groans  greeted 
them.  The  accompanying  gang  of  rioters  ran  ahead 
and  made  a  stand  before  the  door,  barring  entrance  for 
one  second,  until  the  Guard  closed  in,  hitting  right  and 
left  with  clubs,  and  threatening  to  shoot. 

In  the  end  the  scabs  got  in,  but  not  without  several 
wounded.  Almost  all  the  windows  on  the  front  of 
the  building  were  broken,  during  the  battle. 

"We'll  get  them  when  they  come  out,  boys,"  cried 
Dick,  excitedly. 

While  the  men  were  engaged  in  this  battle  royal  at 
the  door,  two  girls,  appointed  by  the  women  at  a  sug- 
gestion from  Joan,  managed  to  get  inside,  through 
the  window  broken  the  night  before.  They  found 
their  way  to  the  wash  rooms  and  various  water  taps 
which  they  turned  on.  With  long  poles  they  shattered 
the  globes  of  the  arc  lights  in  the  work  rooms.  As  the 
guards  ran  back  at  the  sound  of  the  smashing  glass, 
the  girls  were  on  their  way  out,  by  the  route  they  had 
come.  As  they  stepped  out  of  the  basement  window, 
however,  the  sentinel  marching  at  back,  captured  them, 
and  they  were  marched  off  to  jail.  This  was  the  first 
arrest,  and  when  the  women  heard  of  the  fate  of  their 
members,  they  bragged  to  the  men  of  it. 

"You  stood  and  threw  a  few  rocks,  but  we  do  some- 
thing that  counts,  and  get  arrested,"  they  boasted. 

"Shure — we  couldn't  run  this  strike  fer  a  minute 
without  yez !"  Patsy  blarneyed  them. 

Dick  was  a  sad  looking  object  after  the  scrap  at  the 
door,  with  a  cut  in  his  head  from  a  guard's  club,  which 


THE  THRESHOLD  193 

stained  his  hair  and  constantly  trickled  blood  down  his 
forehead.  He  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  it.  His 
face  was  black  with  dirt,  his  shirt  was  torn,  but  he 
was  having  a  good  time.  Boy-like,  he  loved  a  fight. 
For  the  first  time  since  he  had  come  into  the  factory 
district,  he  felt  that  his  friends  were  doing  something 
to  get  their  rights. 

Ben  Card's  police  lined  up  in  front  of  the  factory. 
The  men  remained  long  enough  to  express  their  opin- 
ion of  them,  and  then  withdrew  to  make  some  plans  for 
the  next  move;  and  to  count  their  wounded. 

Patsy  led  Dick  off  to  have  his  cut  looked  after  by 
Mrs.  Rafferty.  Dick  protested  like  a  drunken  man, 
at  being  taken  away  from  the  council.  He  wanted 
to  be  in  on  the  next  fight.  But  Patsy  had  his  way.  As 
they  crossed  the  lot.they  met  Joan,  and  she  took  com- 
mand of  Dick,  releasing  Patsy,  who  went  back  to  the 


men. 

14 


We'll  go  to  the  village  doctor,  Dick.  It  might  get 
infected — " 

"It's  nothing — just  a  scratch.  Mrs.  Rafferty  can 
fix  me  up." 

"You'll  go  to  the  doctor,  just  the  same,"  she  said, 
quietly,  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "Does  it  hurt?"  He 
shook  his  head.  "My — you  are  a  sight!"  she  added. 

"It  was  some  fight,  Joan — you  ought  to  have  been 
there." 

"I've  seen  enough  fights.     They  get  you  nowhere." 

"What?" 

"We've  had  two  already,  a  dozen  men  are  cut  up 
with  the  clubs  the  guards  used,  one  man  is  shot  and  the 
scabs  are  established  in  the  factory.  What  good  has 
it  done?" 

"We  aren't  through  with  them,  yet!" 


194  THE  THRESHOLD 

"We  can't  beat  them  unless  we  organize  the  fight 
and  use  our  brains.  This  mob  business  never  gets  any- 
where." 

Before  he  could  reply,  a  shout  caught  their  attention. 
The  car  from  the  Hall,  driven  by  Jergens,  with  Mr. 
Farwell  on  the  front  seat  beside  him,  appeared,  fol- 
lowed by  a  hooting  rabble  of  women,  who  ran  beside 
it,  callingtout  insults,  and  occasionally  throwing  a  rock. 

Mr.  Farwell  paid  no  least  attention  to  the  attending 
furies.  He  looked  ahead,  unconcerned. 

"It's  Uncle  Greg!"  exclaimed  Dick. 

Just  then,  Gregory  caught  sight  of  the  boy's  ghastly, 
blood-stained  face,  and  he  ordered  Jergens  to  stop. 

"Dick!"  called  Mr.  Farwell,  "what  has  happened  to 
the  boy,  Joan?" 

The  crowd  closed  in  about  the  car;  the  men  sighting 
the  excitement  from  afar,  began  to  run  toward  it.  The 
clamour  of  the  women  increased,  as  they  shut  the  car 
in  a  ring. 

"He  must  not  stop  here — they'll  mob  him,"  cried 
Joan,  trying  to  beat  her  way  through  to  the  machine. 

"Get  out  of  the  way  there,  you !"  cried  Gregory, 
authoritatively.  "Can't  you  see  my  nephew  is  hurt? 
Get  in  the  car,  Dick,  and  we'll  go  for  a  doctor." 

"Oh,  his  precious  little  Dickie!  We  can  rot  down 
here  in  his  old  shanties,  but  don't  let  anything  happen 
to  his  Dickie  !"  jeered  a  woman. 

"It's  King  Farwell!  He's  come  to  pay  us  a  visit  at 
last,"  cried  another. 

"Ye  would  run  in  scabs  on  us,  would  ye?  Well, 
we'll  show  you  before  we're  done  with  you !"  shouted 
one  of  the  men,  throwing  a  rock  which  struck  the  motor 
and  glanced  off. 

"I  don't  intend  to  discuss  my  business  with  you,  now, 


THE  THRESHOLD  195 

or  at  any  time.  If  you  don't  like  the  way  I  manage  it, 
get  out.  I  intend  to  run  it  exactly  as  I  see  fit,  and  on 
terms  which  are  agreeable  to  me.  If  you  won't  do  the 
work  there,  I'll  hire  men  who  will.  There  is  still  a 
law  in  this  state  which  protects  private  property,  there 
is  still  a  state's  prison  penalty  for  property's  destruc- 
tion. That's  all  I  have  to  say.  Now  get  out  of  the 
way  and  let  my  nephew  get  into  this  car." 

He  stood  up  facing  them  all,  a  target  for  attack,  but 
nobody  moved  to  touch  him.  The  silence  lasted  only 
a  second. 

"That's  all  ye  got  to  say,  is  it?  Well  then,  ye  can 
listen  to  us.  It's  about  time  there  was  an  end  to  you 
an'  your  kind.  We  ain't  no  Russian  serfs,  ye  know — " 

An  angry  murmur  rose,  and  another  rock  flew 
straight  at  Gregory.  It  missed  him  but  he  never 
flinched  to  avoid  it. 

"Come  on,  Dick,"  cried  Joan.  "Let  us  through — 
let  us  in  there,"  she  repeated,  beating  people  aside, 
pushing  and  pulling. 

"Stand  away  from  this  car  or  I'll  charge  into  the 
crowd!"  shouted  Gregory. 

Dick  at  Joan's  side,  stopped. 

"Come  on,  Dick — we've  got  to  get  to  him — " 

"Not  after  that,"  said  the  boy  bitterly. 

Joan  went  on  alone  and  finally  sprang  to  the  run- 
ning* board.  She  had  no  idea  what  she  would  say  to 
them,  only  she  knew  they  mifst  not  attack  Gregory. 
As  she  turned  to  look  into  their  angry  faces,  she  felt 
a  great  despair  for  them.  How  stupid  they  were — 
running  like  mad  dogs  in  the  pack!  Her  eye  caught  a 
string  of  wagons  coming  from  the  railroad  station. 
She  took  a  chance  on  it. 

"Don't  waste  your  time  on  this  man — he's  just  one 


196  THE  THRESHOLD 

individual.  It's  the  system  we  want  to  change. 
There  go  the  supply  wagons  with  food  for  the  scabs. 
There's  your  work  for  you !"  she  cried. 

They  answered  with  a  shout  and  charged  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  wagons,  as  if  impelled  by  one  instinct. 
Dick  ran  with  them. 

Gregory  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"I  am,  I  suppose,  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Babcock.  It 
is  a  trifle  embarrassing  to  owe  protection  to  a  woman." 

"It's  stupid  of  you  to  defy  them  now,"  she  said 
hotly.  "They'll  kill  you  without  a  thought." 

"As  they  did  poor  Saunders — " 

"He  isn't  dead!"  she  cried. 

"Very  near  it,  poor  soul.  I've  just  come  from 
there.  He's  got  about  one  chance  in  fifty."  The 
acuie  distress  in  her  face  struck  him.  She  was  as  sensi- 
tive to  the  ugliness  of  this  fight  as  he  was.  It  sickened 
him  to  think  of  her  as  part  of  it.  "How  was  Dick 
hurt?" 

"In  the  fight  at  the  factory.     It  isn't  serious." 

"Will  you  get  him  to  a  doctor?" 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you.  I  suppose  things  will  be  worse  before 
they're  better  down  here  ?" 

"I  should  think  so.  The  men  are  crazy  mad  at 
the  scabs." 

"I  don't  intend  to  submit  to  this  fighting  and  destruc- 
tion of  property." 

She  made  no  answer.  She  stepped  off  the  running 
board,  and  faced  him. 

"Don't  come  down  here  again  until  this  is  settled," 
she  said  earnestly. 

"My  dear  Miss  Babcock,"  he  smiled,  "I  really  can- 
not let  your  short-tempered  friends  interfere  with  my 


THE  THRESHOLD  197 

personal  liberty.  Look  after  Dick — and  can't  you 
keep  out  of  it  yourself?"  he  appealed. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"All  right,  Jergens — back  to  the  Hall,"  he  said, 
bowing  to  her,  with  grave  courtesy.  She  watched  the 
car  until  it  was  safely  away — and  he,  in  turn,  looked 
back  at  the  girl,  with  an  overpowering  longing  to  go 
back  and  snatch  her  up  into  safety — to  carry  her  away 
out  of  this  sordid,  stupid  fight.  Surely  there  were 
finer  uses  to  which  her  powers  might  be  devoted.  He 
thought  of  that  rabble,  and  shuddered. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JOAN  succeeded  in  getting  Dick  to  a  doctor  who 
plastered  up  his  cuts,  and  then,  on  his  promise 
that  he  and  Patsy  were  going  to  turn  in  and  sleep 
until  noon,  she  went  to  her  room  to  try  for  some  rest 
herself.  The  strain  of  their  all  night  fight,  her  terror 
lest  she  had  killed  Saunders,  and  last  and  most  im- 
portant, her  anxiety  over  Gregory's  defiance  of  the 
mob — had  left  her  a  nervous  wreck.  She  wanted  to 
hide  herself  away  and  cry. 

But  when  she  threw  herself  down  on  her  bed,  she 
found  herself  unable  to  relax  a  muscle.  She  had  only 
an  hour  or  so,  because  she  must  be  on  hand  when  the 
strikers  made  the  next  move.  She  felt  herself  as  re- 
sponsible for  Dick's  safety,  as  if  he  were  her  own  child. 
Gregory  had  charged  her  to  look  after  the  boy,  and  she 
felt  that  this  was  the  only  way  she  could  make  up  to 
him,  for  the  havoc  she  had  wrought  in  his  life. 

She  knew  that  she  must  not  allow  herself  to  think 
about  Gregory  now.  She  must  keep  her  thoughts  free 
of  him.  She  began  to  vaguely  realize  that  he  ham- 
pered her  judgment — not  Gregory,  the  employer  and 
capitalist — she  utterly  disapproved  of  him — but  Greg- 
ory the  man,  Gregory,  the  friend.  She  despised  her- 
self for  being  proud  of  the  way  he  had  stood  up,  in  the 
face  of  that  mob,  and  defied  them.  He  was  so  per- 
fectly true  to  his  own  principles. 

She  tried  to  hold  her  mind  upon  the  women's  part  in 
the  strike.  She  wanted  to  work  out  a  way  to  make 
them  effective,  but  it  was  hard  to  know  how  to  manage 

198 


THE  THRESHOLD  199 

them.  She  tried  to  foresee  the  things  that  might  hap- 
pen to  Dick  and  Patsy,  so  that  she  could  be  ready  for 
anything,  but  her  unruly,  ever  active  mind  continually 
ran  away  from  her,  away  from  the  ugly,  brutal  fight, 
up  the  hill  to  find  peace  and  refreshment  with  Gregory. 
Finally  she  gave  up  the  idea  of  rest,  and  sat  down  at 
her  table,  which  served  as  writing  desk,  and  began  a 
letter  to  Miss  Earl,  in  the  hope  that  she  could  get  away 
from  herself — 

"If  either  one  of  us  could  have  forseen  the  events 
that  were  to  follow  upon  my  chance  visit  to  your  office 
on  that  fateful  day  last  spring,  I  wonder  if  we  would 
have  had  the  courage  to  face  them?  My  taking  the 
position  at  Farwell  Hall  was  such  a  joke  to  both  of  us, 
at  that  time.  But  oh,  my  dear  Miss  Earl,  it  has  not 
turned  out  to  be  a  joke  at  all ! 

"Some  day  I  hope  we  may  have  a  long  talk  together, 
so  that  I  may  explain  to  you  all  the  many  elements 
which  went  to  make  up  the  situation  which  led  to  the 
crisis  I  find  myself  in  today.  I  wrote  you  that  I  was 
interesting  young  Norton  in  the  study  of  social  condi- 
tions— that  I  was  deliberately  trying  to  waken  him  to 
the  responsibilities  he  has  to  assume  at  21,  as  owner  of 
these  factories  in  Farwell.  I  seem  to  remember  writ- 
ing you  jocosely  about  it,  threatening  to  make  a  good 
socialist  of  him.  I  was  so  sure  of  myself,  Miss  Earl, 
so  damnably  sure.  How  sardonic  it  is  that  we  little 
mortals  go  on  thinking  that  our  rule  of  thumb  will  make 
all  the  wrongs  right !  We  go  ruthlessly  smashing  into 
other  people's  lives,  forcing  our  point  of  view  upon 
them,  demanding  our  own  way  .  .  . 

"Dear  Miss  Earl,  my  young  pupil  ran  ahead  of  his 
teacher.  He  took  a  job  in  his  own  factory  to  study  the 


200  THE  THRESHOLD 

conditions.  He  urged  the  organization  of  the  men 
and  women  into  unions.  Mr.  Farwell  had  him  dis- 
missed as  a  trouble-maker — the  union  called  a  strike. 

"All  night  we  have  been  in  a  terrible  fight  with  police- 
men and  strike  breakers.  I  suppose  you  can't  even 
picture  it,  hand  to  hand  fighting,  scratching,  throwing 
rocks,  running  with  the  pack.  I  fought  beside  Dick; 
he  was  cut  in  the  head.  Once  he  was  attacked  and  I 
nearly  killed  the  man  who  assaulted  him.  Just  now 
we  have  a  lull — but  later  no  one  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen. The  workers  have  been  patient  for  many  years, 
but  now  they  are  thoroughly  aroused. 

"That  spring  day  in  your  office  laid  the  fuse  to  all 
this,  Miss  Earl!" 

She  sealed  it  and  posted  it  on  her  way  to  the  Raf- 
ertys'.  She  felt  better  for  having  written  it.  Mrs. 
Rafferty  was  on  guard,  trying  to  keep  the  house  quiet  so 
the  boys  could  sleep.  She  beckoned  Joan  into  the 
kitchen. 

"Slapin'  loike  babies,"  she  whispered  to  the  girl. 
"Ye  don't  look  anny  too  rested  yersilf,"  she  added. 

"I  couldn't  sleep.  Oh,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  I  wish  we 
were  out  of  this !  It's  all  my  doing  that  Dick  ever  went 
to  work  in  the  shops." 

"Joan,"  said  the  elder  woman,  laying  her  big,  kind, 
red  hand  on  the  girl's  arm,  "what  is,  is.  It  don't  do 
no  good  to  wisht  the  past  differunt.  Dick  moight  be  in 
worse  business  than  stroikin'  I" 

"But  I  don't  want  those  two  boys  to  be  hurt,  and  I 
know  the  minute  Card  gets  out,  he'll  lay  for  them." 

"Let  Card  look  out  fer  himsilf,  then.  My  Patsy 
can  take  care  of  hissilf,  an'  a  broken  head  won't  kill 
Dick,"  she  replied  cheerfully. 


THE  THRESHOLD  201 

"What's  the  matter  with  me,  anyhow,  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty?  I  know  this  strike  is  right.  I  know  it's  time 
the  workers  demanded  better  conditions,  and  yet  my 
heart  isn't  in  it  at  all." 

"Well,  ye're  toired  out  fer  wan  thing.  Don't  get 
to  thinkin'  ye  started  this  foight,  my  gurl.  'Tis  due 
this  long  toime,  an'  it  would  a'  come,  with  er  without 
you  an'  Dick." 

"You  are  a  comfort,  dear  Mrs.  Rafferty." 

"The  byes  is  tellin'  me  King  Farwell  had  the  nerve 
to  come  a  showin'  hissilf  in  the  village,"  the  Irish 
woman  continued. 

Joan  nodded. 

"I'm  sorry  they  didn't  smash  a  cabbage  in  his  smilin' 
face,"  she  remarked  hotly. 

"Mr.  Farwell  thinks  his  way  is  right,"  Joan  de- 
fended him  feebly. 

"Does  he  now?  I'd  loike  a  few  words  with  him. 
I'd  give  him  my  opinion  on  the  way  he  does  in  the 
factory,  the  great  big  hog!" 

Joan  had  never  seen  her  friend  angry  before,  but 
she  was  aroused  this  time.  Gregory  Farwell  typified 
to  her  all  the  greed  and  injustice  in  the  world,  just  as 
"The  Company"  had  been  the  composite  devil  of 
Joan's  childhood  in  Whiting.  She  tried  to  recapture 
her  old  hatred  for  those  men.  Were  they,  too,  kindly 
human  beings,  with  families  and  friendly  human  rela- 
tions, as  Gregory  was?  Were  they,  perhaps,  as  much 
a  part  of  the  system,  as  the  men  and  women  they  em- 
ployed? Was  it  unthinkable  that  they  should  come  to 
extend  these  human  relations  to  the  men  who  worked 
for  them,  so  that  they  might  work  with  them? 

Mrs.  Rafferty's  list  of  the  things  she  would  tell  King 
Farwell  brought  Joan  back  from  her  far  flight. 


202  THE  THRESHOLD 

Maybe  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  right — perhaps  forcing 
Gregory  and  his  kind  to  do  the  just  and  fair  thing,  was 
the  only  way. 

"Do  you  believe  the  workers  would  be  fair,  Mrs. 
Rafferty,  if  we  had  the  power?" 

"I  do  not.  No  human  bein's  with  power  is  goin' 
to  be  fair,  unless  they're  forced  to  it,"  was  her  instant 
answer. 

Dick  came  into  the  room,  fairly  staggering  with 
sleep. 

"Hello,"  he  said.     "Isn't  Patsy  awake  yet?" 

"No.     Did  yez  slape,  bye  ?" 

"Like  a  log.     Did  you,  Joan?" 

"No." 

He  came  over  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Look  here,  old  dear,  you'll  be  done  up  if  you  don't 
let  go." 

"I  can't,  Dick.  I'm  all  right.  What  is  to  be  done 
next?" 

"We  think  they'll  try  to  get  the  scabs'  dinner  into 
the  factory  to  them,  rather  than  risk  marching  them 
out.  We  want  to  add  a  little  seasoning  to  their  soup." 

"It's  all  right  to  bother  the  scabs,  but  it  doesn't  get 
us  anywhere." 

"Ye  ought  to  break  up  some  more  of  yer  machines, 
Dick,  that  cripples  the  output,"  Mrs.  Rafferty  urged. 

"Patsy  and  I  are  to  have  another  go  at  them  to- 
night," he  agreed. 

"Card  will  get  you  two  boys  first,  if  he  can.  You 
know  that,  don't  you?" 

"Sure  we  know  ut,"  said  Patsy,  strolling  in.  "Card 
is  lookin'  fer  a  chanct  to  put  his  dirk  into  meT 

"Don't  let  it  happen,  then — "  she  urged. 

"Say,  lady,  I  wasn't  bornded  yisterday,"  he  grinned. 


THE  THRESHOLD  205 


"Come    on,    Dick.     The    fellas    is    gatherin'    in 
lot." 

They  went  out,  and  presently  Joan  and  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty  followed  them.  The  whole  district  was  drifting 
toward  the  commissariat  tent,  where  the  cooks  could 
be  seen  working  over  their  great  pots.  The  noon 
whistle  blew  as  usual,  but  nothing  happened.  Pres- 
ently a  detachment  of  the  special  village  police  marched 
toward  the  cook  tent. 

"Here  they  come,  fellas  —  git  ready  wit  yer  old  eggs 
an'  vegetables  for  the  scabbies'  dinner,"  shouted  a 
striker.  They  were  mostly  armed  with  pockets  full 
of  contributions.  The  village  police  got  together  for 
a  conference.  Even  aided  by  the  scab  guards  they 
could  not  hold  off  the  whole  crowd  and  help  carry  the 
food  at  the  same  time.  The  man  who  was  trying  to 
direct  them,  kept  one  eye  on  the  strikers.  In  answer  to 
his  urgent  orders,  a  cook  swung  a  huge  iron  kettle  onto 
the  ground  in  front  of  the  tent.  Instantly  a  rock,  well 
aimed,  knocked  off  the  lid,  and  a  shower  of  donations 
was  hurled  at  the  cauldron.  A  proportion  of  them 
landed,  to  the  tune  of  much  laughter  from  the  strikers. 

"  'Tis  better  to  give  than  to  receive,"  howled  one 
of  them. 

The  cook  hastily  withdrew  the  kettle  and  after  in- 
effectual efforts  to  fish  out  the  foreign  matter,  he  called 
the  guards  all  inside. 

After  prolonged  discussion  they  appeared  and  went 
back  to  the  factory. 

"Come  on,  boys,  they're  goin'  to  march  the  scabs 
out  after  all." 

With  a  yell  they  ran  after  the  retreating  forms  of 
the  police.  They  stood  on  guard  before  the  doors 
again,  while  the  leader  went  inside.  Presently  he  re- 


204  THE  THRESHOLD 

turned  and  gave  an  order.  The  special  deputies  drew 
their  revolvers  and  the  scabs  marched  out.  The  strik- 
ers began  to  follow  them  across  to  the  camp. 

Dick  called  to  Patsy  and  Joan  saw  them  with  several 
others  drop  away  from  the  mob,  and  make  a  detour 
back  toward  the  farthest  of  the  factory  buildings. 
Only  the  main  building  was  guarded.  A  picket  was  on 
duty,  protecting  the  rest  of  the  shops.  Joan  followed 
her  boys.  She  suspected  that  they  were  going  to  try 
to  disable  more  machines. 

As  she  came  into  the  yards  at  the  back,  she  saw  the 
main  members  of  the  scouting  party  engaging  the  picket 
in  a  lively  argument.  He  gave  a  signal  of  distress 
•which  brought  the  other  guard  from  the  big  building  to 
the  rescue. 

At  that  moment  Dick  and  Patsy  cut  across  for  the 
basement  windows,  through  which  they  had  gained  ac- 
cess on  the  night  before.  Joan  ran  in  after  them,  but 
decided  to  stay  on  guard  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 
She  heard  them  running  about  overhead.  Then  there 
was  a  sound  of  some  one,  on  the  gravel  path  coming 
toward  the  house.  She  sped  up  the  stairs  and  warned 
the  boys.  They  made  for  a  side  window,  dropped  ten 
feet  and  got  away — but  Joan  turned  to  face  two  of 
the  policemen.  They  grabbed  her  and  hurried  her  out, 
taking  her  by  a  back  way  to  the  police  station.  There 
they  locked  her  up  on  a  charge  of  attempt  to  destroy 
property.  She  asked  to  be  put  in  with  the  other  strik- 
ing girls.  But  she  was  led  to  a  cell  which  was  exceed- 
ingly dirty  and  uncomfortable,  and  left  to  her  own 
reflections. 

At  first  she  was  glad  to  be  there.  She  had  saved  the 
boys,  and  for  the  time  being  she  was  out  of  it.  She 
had  no  responsibility  to  shoulder.  But  as  the  after- 


THE  THRESHOLD  205 

noon  waned  and  she  thought  of  the  night  in  that  hateful 
place,  she  began  to  think  of  ways  of  getting  out. 
Then,  too,  it  might  be  that  this  particular  night  would 
be  the  time  when  Dick  needed  her  most.  The  temper 
of  the  strikers  was  growing  uglier  hour  by  hour —  She 
really  ought  to  be  out,  and  in  the  fight. 

She  finally  wrote  a  line  on  a  paper  to  Gregory.  "In 
jail.  Will  you  help  me?"  and  persuaded  the  jail 
keeper  to  telephone  it  to  Farwell  Hall.  Then  she  sat 
down  to  await  his  answer.  It  got  dark  in  the  cell,  and 
friendly  mice  began  to  run  about.  Joan  felt  as  if 
creepy  things  were  making  their  sure  way  toward  her. 
She  walked  up  and  down  impatiently.  Suppose  Greg- 
ory were  not  at  the  Hall — suppose  he  had  gone  to  New 
York.  She  might  have  to  stop  in  this  filthy  place  for 
days !  Why  hadn't  Dick  and  Patsy  discovered  that  she 
was  lost  ?  They  would  never  give  a  thought  to  her,  the 
selfish  young  beasts ! 

She  worked  herself  into  a  fever  of  nerves  before 
the  sound  of  the  jailer's  coming  and  the  light  of  his 
lantern  encouraged  her. 

"Did  you  send  the  message?"  she  called  eagerly. 

"Joan!"  came  Gregory's  deep  voice  in  protest. 

He  stood  outside  the  barred  door  looking  through  at 
her,  in  the  midst  of  the  dark,  smelly  cell. 

"Oh — I  thought  you  would  never  come,"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  a  relieved  sense  of  everything  being  all 
right  now.  She  swallowed  hard  and  tried  to  smile  at 
him.  "I  got  arrested,"  she  ended  feebly. 

"Hurry  with  that  door,"  he  ordered  the  man.  She 
stepped  out  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  led 
her  out. 

"Am  I  free  now?"  she  asked  him. 

"Yes.     I  got  the  charge  dismissed  this  time  as  it 


2o6  THE  THRESHOLD 

was  my  property  you  were  destroying,  but  I  can't  prom- 
ise to  do  that  again." 

"I  wasn't  destroying  your  property.  I  went  in  to 
warn  Dick  and  Patsy,  and  they  got  me.  The  boys  es- 
caped. I  wouldn't  have  asked  you  to  get  me  out,  but 
I  think  I  ought  to  be  with  Dick  tonight.  The  crowd 
is  getting  ugly." 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her  earnestly. 

"Can't  you  come  out  of  this?  If  you  knew  how  I 
felt  when  I  saw  you  in  that  filthy  hole — " 

"I  can't  come  out  of  it,  Gregory,  until  you  come  in. 
Don't  you  see  that?"  she  said  with  an  earnestness  equal 
to  his  own.  They  neither  of  them  knew  that  for  the 
first  time  she  had  used  his  Christian  name. 

"It's  such  futile  business,  child,"  he  protested. 

"I'm  in  this  thing  now.  I  must  see  it  through,"  she 
answered.  "It's  the  only  way  you've  left  us." 

He  bowed,  and  lifted  his  hat  to  leave  her. 

"Thank  you  so  much  for  coming  to  help  me,"  she 
said. 

He  smiled  at  that,  and  her  heart  shut  with  a  little 
spasm  of  pain.  When  he  was  gone,  she  hurried  back 
to  the  Raffertys'.  The  boys  had  grabbed  their  sup- 
per and  gone  out,  Mrs.  Rafferty  reported.  She  in- 
sisted on  giving  Joan  something  to  eat.  In  answer 
to  Joan's  questions  as  to  whether  the  boys  had  missed 
her,  the  Irish  woman  said  that  they  supposed  she 
had  gone  to  her  room.  Joan  told  the  story  of  her 
arrest. 

"An'  how  did  ye  git  out?" 

"I  sent  for  Mr.  Farwell  and  he  got  me  off." 

"Fer  the  love  av  Mike!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rafferty. 
At  that  moment  a  suspicion  was  born  in  her  mind. 

"Did  they  tell  you  what  was  on  tonight?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  207 

"No — there  was  an  awful  scrap  whin  the  scabs  wint 
back  at  noon,  an'  another  whin  they  come  out  at  six. 
They  do  say  the  three  big  machines  is  busted,  too. 
Trouble  tonight,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"Many  of  our  men  hurt  in  the  scrap?" 

"Shure,  about  tin  heads  busted,  the  byes  was  sayin'. 
Wan  av  thim  fool  specials  shot  into  the  air!  A  few 
more  mistakes  loike  that,  an'  they'll  be  the  divil  to 
pay." 

"Are  you  coming  out?" 

"I  am.     I  ain't  goin'  to  miss  the  big  show." 

They  went  along  together,  to  where  the  strikers 
stood  in  groups,  in  the  lot.  There  were  a  few  speakers 
haranguing  here  and  there,  but  no  excitement  was  afoot 
so  far.  They  came  upon  Dick  and  Patsy,  together  as 
usual. 

"Where  did  you  cut  to,  after  you  gave  us  the  warn- 
ing?" Dick  asked  Joan. 

"I  cut  to  jail !  I'd  have  been  there  yet,  if  I'd  had  to 
depend  on  you !"  she  retorted. 

"Jail?     What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded. 

"They  caught  me  before  I  could  run — " 

"They  arrested  you?" 

"Certainly." 

"Damn  them!"  cried  Dick. 

"How  did  ye  get  out?"  Patsy  interrupted. 

"Mr.  Farwell  got  me  out." 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me?"  Dick  said  hotly. 

"Because  I  didn't  think  you'd  do  any  good.  It's  all 
right  now,  so  long  as  I'm  out." 

Just  then  a  boy  came  tearing  across  the  lot  toward 
them. 

"Card  has  called  out  the  militia,"  he  shouted,  "the 
troopers  are  coming  on  the  9  :2O  train." 


2o8  THE  THRESHOLD 

This  was  greeted  with  a  roar  of  anger.  Voices  took 
up  the  news  and  passed  it  on. 

"Git  together  what  ye  can,  byes,  an'  give  the  militia 
a  hearty  welcome.  This  is  King  Farwell's  work — 
yez  can  bet." 

They  ran  for  any  kind  of  weapon  which  they 
hoarded  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  lot  was  vacant,  save 
for  the  tents.  The  crowd  surrounded  the  station,  just 
as  it  had  to  receive  the  scabs.  Only  this  time  they 
were  silent,  instead  of  joking.  Faces  were  white  and 
set.  When  the  troops  came,  real  trouble  came. 

Joan  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  urged  the  boys  not  to  make 
any  rush  upon  the  militia — it  would  only  mean  shoot- 
ing. Joan  made  a  speech,  begging  the  men  to  let  the 
troops  in  without  resistance,  and  to  use  their  brains  to 
outwit  them.  The  militia  could  not  think,  it  could  only 
shoot. 

Card  appeared  as  the  train  was  due.  He  had  a  ban- 
dage on  his  head,  and  he  was  conspicuously  armed. 

"If  you  fellows  make  any  breaks  here  tonight,  there 
will  be  fewer  of  ye  here  tomorrow,"  he  shouted  as  the 
train  came  in. 

The  militk  detrained,  revolvers  drawn,  and  began  to 
march  through  the  crowd,  shoving  men  and  women 
aside  roughly. 

The  strikers  raised  a  yell  of  hate. 

"Forward — charge  I"  rapped  the  order.  The  sol- 
diers plunged  through,  and  the  crowd  gave  fight.  The 
strikers  managed  to  break  up  the  alignment  for  a  sec- 
ond. The  officer  ordered  them  to  clear  the  station 
platform.  In  the  fracas,  Card  made  for  Patsy,  bran- 
dishing his  revolver.  Mrs.  Rafferty  saw  him  coming. 
She  was  carrying  a  length  of  pipe  which  she  swung  and 


THE  THRESHOLD  209 

hit  Card  in  the  wrist,  throwing  his  revolver  into  the 
crowd.     Somebody  grabbed  it  and  shot. 

At  that  the  militia  opened  fire  deliberately.  There 
were  men,  women  and  children  in  the  crowd.  Dick 
was  standing  on  a  bench  against  the  wall,  where  he 
could  watch  the  proceeding.  The  cold  cruelty  of  what 
happened  was  burned  into  the  boy's  brain.  He  saw 
the  soldiers  fire,  he  saw  people  fall  all  about  him — he 
saw  one  child  clutch  at  his  mother's  skirts,  then  dis- 
appear. It  was  all  over  in  a  few  seconds,  and  the 
militia  was  on  its  way,  double  quick  to  the  factor}'. 
The  strikers  staid  behind  to  gather  up  their  wounded. 
Dick  saw  Joan  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  at  work  over  the 
child — he  recognized  it  as  little  Jim  Rafferty.  He  saw 
that  Patsy  was  all  right,  and  then,  slowly,  like  a  dazed 
drunken  thing,  he  started  to  run  slowly  after  the  dis- 
appearing soldiers. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GREGORY  went  back  to  the  Hall,  after  get- 
ting Joan  out  of  jail,  with  his  mind  a  seething 
torment.  The  mere  thought  of  the  girl  in 
that  filthy  cell,  where  the  town  drunkard  had  probably 
spent  the  previous  night,  was  enough  to  distract  him. 
What  worse  things  might  happen  to  her?  The  law- 
lessness of  a  mob  like  that  knew  no  bounds.  She  could 
not  know  what  dangers  she  played  with,  and  he  was 
coming  back  to  the  safety  of  the  Hall,  leaving  her 
down  there  with  those  devils.  He  wished  the  town  of 
Farwell  were  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea !  He  wished  his 
father  and  his  great  grandfather  had  spent  their  money 
in  riotous  living,  rather  than  to  have  established  the 
hated  factories.  Should  he  call  off  Larsen,  counter- 
mand the  Saunders  orders,  give  in  to  the  workers,  and 
so  get  Dick  and  Joan  to  come  home  again? 

His  dinner  went  off  the  table,  course  after  course 
scarcely  touched.  How  could  he  eat?  What  were 
those  children  eating  for  their  dinner?  There  was  no 
place  in  the  village — they  must  be  depending  on  some 
cheap  boarding  house  food.  It  spoiled  all  the  deli- 
cacies the  cook  sent  up.  The  cook,  in  turn,  wept. 
Later  in  the  evening  Mrs.  Craddock  invaded  the 
library  to  protest. 

"Mr.  Farwell,  sir—" 

"Ah — Mrs.  Craddock?"  he  said,  looking  up  from 
the  book  he  was  pretending  to  read. 

2IO 


THE  THRESHOLD  211 

"Unless  you  can  make  out  to  eat  more,  sir,  Annie  the 
cook,  will  leave.  She  sez  as  she  hez  been  here  for 
many  a  year,  but  she  still  has  her  proper  pride." 

"What  has  my  appetite  to  do  with  Annie's  proper 
pride?"  he  inquired. 

"If  you  don't  like  her  cookin',  she  prefers  not  to 
stay." 

"Nonsense!  Tell  her  I  do  like  her  cooking.  I 
have  not  been  very  well  for  a  few  days,  that  is  all." 

"It's  been  ever  since  Mr.  Dick  left  us,  Mr.  Far- 
well." 

"Has  it?     Well,  possibly  so." 

"Nothing  has  been  the  same,  sir,  since  that  vampire 
came  among  us — " 

"Vampire,  Craddock?" 

"That  woman." 

"That  will  do,  Craddock,"  sharply.  "Miss  Bab- 
cock  is  doing  me  the  very  great  service  of  looking  after 
my  nephew,  during  some  trouble  he  has  got  us  all  into. 
I  am  very  grateful  to  her." 

"Excuse  me,  sir.  I  didn't  mean  to  bust  out  like 
that." 

"Don't  let  it  happen  again,  please." 

"No,  sir.  Are  we  to  keep  on  with  that  office  sys- 
tem in  the  house  that — that  was  lately  installed?" 

"Certainly.  I  want  everything  to  go  on  exactly  as 
it  did  under  Miss  Babcock's  management." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  with  an  abused  sigh. 

"Good  night,  Mrs.  Craddock." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Farwell.  You  wouldn't  be  goin' 
to  New  York,  sir?" 

"No." 

"Cook  an'  I  was  wonderin'  if  you  wouldn't  ask  some 
company  to  stay  with  you,  sir — " 


212  THE  THRESHOLD 

"You  and  cook  need  not  worry  at  all  about  me, 
Craddock.  I  do  not  want  company,  nor  a  f  rip  to  New 
York,"  he  smiled. 

"Good  night,  sir." 

"You  and  cook  may  go  to  New  York,  if  you  like." 

"Oh,  no,  sir." 

After  her  departure  he  set  himself  determinedly  to 
keep  his  mind  off  speculation  as  to  what  was  happening 
in  the  village.  He  tried  several  new  books,  arrived 
by  post  that  very  day.  One  interested  him  for  half 
an  hour  because  he  thought  Joan  would  like  it.  He 
laid  it  down  finally  and  played  a  few  records  on  the 
victrola — her  favourites  or  Dick's.  When  he  realized 
what  he  was  doing,  he  shut  it  off  angrily.  Why  could 
he  not  dismiss  the  precious  pair  from  his  thoughts. 
They  gave  him  and  his  rights  good  and  little  considera- 
tion. They  did  not  care  if  he  sat  up  there,  worrying 
himself  sick  about  them.  Not  they,  they  were  too  in- 
tent upon  setting  his  employes  against  him,  they  were 
too  absorbed  in  wrecking  his  property.  He  went  over 
Dick's  denunciation  of  him,  recalling  every  word.  He 
remembered  how  the  boy  had  started  to  come  toward 
the  car  with  Joan,  in  answer  to  his  call  that  day  in  the 
street,  and  how  he  turned  away  with  a  look  of  absolute 
hate. 

Joan's  concern  for  his  safety,  her  appeal  to  him  to 
keep  out  of  harm's  way,  up  at  the  Hall,  irked  him. 
Did  he  seem  an  old  man  to  her,  needing  a  woman's 
protection?  He  glowed  at  the  thought  of  how  she 
sprang  to  his  rescue,  facing  that  mob  even  while  he 
raged  at  it. 

Her  words  of  parting,  after  her  release  from  jail, 
spoke  themselves  again — "I  cannot  come  out,  until  you 


THE  THRESHOLD  213 

come  in,  Gregory — "  She  had  said  that  surely — she 
had  called  him  Gregory.  It  had  not  come  to  him  at 
the  time. 

He  went  to  the  window  and  looked  down  toward 
the  village.  Its  lights  twinkled  dimly,  a  scattered 
group. 

"Joan!"  he  said  aloud— "Joan." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  long  room.  Must  he 
give  up  the  habit  of  his  lifetime,  must  he  tear  down 
the  slowly  builded  wall,  which  he  had  laid,  stone  on 
stone,  between  himself  and  this  2Oth  Century  world? 
Must  he  at  the  call  of  this  girl,  go  down  into  the  arena 
he  had  scorned,  and  do  battle  like  the  rest  of  the  un- 
fortunates born  of  this  hateful  time?  Was  he  willing 
to  make  this  sacrifice  for  the  love  of  this  girl?  It 
seemed  to  have  settled  into  that  in  his  thoughts. 

He  went  back  to  the  window  and  gave  himself  up 
to  the  dream  of  loving  her,  being  loved  by  her.  All 
at  once  something  caught  his  eye — held  it.  He  gave  a 
low  exclamation  and  stood  still. 

Joan  had  stayed  behind  when  the  strikers  had  run 
after  the  troops,  to  help  some  of  the  other  women  with 
the  ones  who  had  been  hurt.  They  gave  such  rough 
first-aid  as  they  could — until  the  doctor  came.  He  or- 
dered a  wagon,  lined  with  straw  from  the  livery  stable 
and  they  managed  to  get  the  injured  ones  home.  Mo 
one  was  killed,  by  some  miracle. 

Mrs.  Rafferty  and  Joan  waited  until  the  last  one  was 
disposed  of.  Then  between  them  they  carried  Jim 
home.  The  doctor  had  bandaged  the  child's  leg,  where 
the  bullet  went  through,  and  he  promised  to  come  in  at 
the  first  opportunity  to  see  that  the  boy  was  all  right. 
He  had  several  more  serious  wounds  to  attend  to  first. 


2i4  THE  THRESHOLD 

Joan  insisted  that  a  cot  be  made  up  for  Jimmy  in  the 
parlour,  where  Dick  slept.  Mrs.  Rafferty  protested 
that  it  was  Dick's  room  and  he  might  not  like  it,  but 
Joan  took  matters  in  her  own  hands  and  together  they 
made  a  bed  and  got  the  boy  into  it.  He  was  nervous 
and  excited  and  all  the  other  Rafferty  children  were  the 
same.  They  could  not  be  kept  out  of  the  parlour,  so 
thrilled  were  they  with  their  brother's  importance. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  get  these  youngsters 
to  bed  and  sit  with  them  until  Dick  and  Patsy  come  in. 
You  lie  down  on  Dick's  bed,  near  Jimmy,  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty." 

"Ye  can't  sit  up  with  all  yer  clothes  on — gurl,"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"I'll  run  over  to  my  room  and  get  a  heavy  bathrobe. 
Then  I  can  make  myself  comfortable.  You  go  on  in 
the  parlour  and  shut  the  door.  Jimmy  must  get  to 
sleep." 

"Ye  certainly  arr  a  dearr!"  quoth  Mrs.  Rafferty, 
obeying  orders. 

Joan  offered  a  prize  to  the  first  Rafferty  to  get  into 
bed  before  her  return.  She  hurried  to  her  room,  got 
the  wrapper,  a  book,  and  a  letter  from  Miss  Earl 
which  was  under  her  door,  and  was  back  in  a  very 
short  time.  All  the  young  Raffertys  were  disposed  of 
for  the  night,  and  a  babel  arose  as  to  which  one  had 
won  the  prize. 

"I'll  give  each  one  of  you  a  prize  in  the  morning,  if 
you'll  go  right  to  sleep  now,  chick-a-biddies,"  she 
smiled. 

So  four  pairs  of  eyelids  were  scrouged  together  in 
the  effort  to  induce  immediate  sleep.  Joan  managed  to 
get  off  some  of  her  clothes,  and  to  make  herself  easy. 
She  set  the  kerosene  lamp  in  the  corner  farthest  away 


THE  THRESHOLD  215 

from  the  children,  and  sat  down  to  open  Miss  Earl's 
letter.  It  was  a  strange  place  for  a  letter  of  little  Miss 
Earl's  to  be  read.  The  quaint,  introspective  New 
England  face  came  before  Joan's  eye.  What  would 
Miss  Earl  do  in  an  armed  camp,  Joan  wondered. 

"My  dear  Joan  Babcock — "  it  began.  "I  can  no 
longer  think  nor  say  'Miss  Babcock,'  because  you  have 
let  me  come  into  your  life  and  thoughts  in  such  an  inti- 
mate way.  I  feel  myself  to  be  all  wrapped  up  in  this 
strange,  unheard-of  situation  you  are  in.  Truly  it  is 
well  that  the  gift  of  prophecy  is  rare  with  us.  As  you 
say  the  chance  meeting  of  that  spring  day  was  to  change 
several  lives.  I  look  forward  with  great  impatience  to 
the  time  when  I  can  hear  the  whole  story  and  come  to 
know  all  its  interweaving  elements.  The  facts  you 
give  me  of  the  present  crisis  are  indeed  startling.  I 
wish  I  could  look  in  on  you  at  this  moment  and  see 
what  is  happening  with  you.  I  shall  be  very  anxious 
until  I  know  you  are  safe. 

"But  as  to  the  immediate  situation,  I  want  to  say  this. 
The  world  is  thrust  forward  by  such  dynamic  personali- 
ties as  yours,  even  by  your  mistakes.  There  is  danger 
in  action,  but  more  in  tranquil  inaction,  in  feeble  acqui- 
escence in  the  face  of  injustice  and  wrong. 

"I  suppose  this  will  sound  strange  to  you,  coming 
from  me.  I  belong  so  to  my  past,  to  my  forbears. 
With  all  the  liberating  influences  of  my  education,  my 
experience,  my  own  thinking,  my  first  instinctive  reac- 
tion is  the  norm  of  the  long  line  of  conservatives  behind 
me.  But  you — you  stand  out  all  by  yourself — belong- 
ing to  yourself.  You  must  believe  in  yourself!  I  be- 
lieve in  you  entirely.  Whatever  you  may  have  done 
to -arouse  this  boy  to  his  duty,  you  did  from  the  highest 
motives.  It  must  work  out  for  good,  my  dear. 


216  THE  THRESHOLD 

"The  thought  of  the  poor,  elegant  Mr.  Farwell  does 
distress  me  somewhat.  But  he  is  like  me,  I  think,  a 
part  of  his  past,  and  we  must  step  aside  for  you,  who 
are  the  future.  .  .  ." 

Joan  sat  and  pondered  that  sentence  for  a  long  time. 
It  touched  her  deeply,  Miss  Earl's  belief  in  her.  From 
the  very  first  moment  she  had  looked  into  the  clear, 
grey  eyes  of  the  head  of  the  Bureau,  she  had  known 
that  they  understood  each  other.  Totally  unlike  in 
nature  and  inheritance,  there  had  happened  between 
them  in  a  fl'ash  of  eyes,  that  subtle  thing  we  call  affinity. 
She  read  the  letter  again.  Her  friend  was  right.  She 
must  not  lose  her  confidence  in  herself,  in  the  right- 
eousness of  her  Cause,  even  if  it  did  bring  personal  suf- 
fering to  Dick  and  Gregory  and  herself.  Aye,  and  to 
the  Raffertys  and  all  their  friends  in  the  factory.  But 
it  was  right  that  men  should  get  the  decencies  of  living 
in  exchange  for  a  life  of  toil.  That  was  the  fight  she 
and  Dick  were  in  on.  .  .  . 

She  heard  the  sound  of  some  one  out  back  of  the 
shanty,  some  one  in  the  lean-to  where  Mrs.  Rafferty 
kept  the  kerosene  can  and  the  pails  and  tubs  and  extras 
needed  by  her  family.  Thinking  it  was  one  of  the 
boys,  she  stepped  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  spoke 
softly,  not  to  awaken  the  children.  There  was  no 
answer — no  sound  of  any  one  moving,  although  she 
was  sure  she  had  heard  something  strike  one  of  the 
pails.  She  closed  the  door  again,  but  stood  looking 
out.  Presently  she  heard  it  again — then  she  was  sure 
she  saw  some  one  move  out  of  the  shadow  and  run. 
She  was  frightened  now.  She  tip-toed  to  the  parlour 
door,  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Rafferty,  but  the  noise  of  her 
snoring  indicated  that  she  was  getting  a  much-needed 
rest.  Joan  went  back  to  the  rear  door  to  watch. 


THE  THRESHOLD  217 

Then  the  front  door  opened  and  closed.  Quickly, 
with  beating  heart,  she  went  to  the  hall.  It  was 
Patsy — 

"Hello— you  here!     Where's  ma?" 

"In  there  with  Jimmy.     Where's  Dick?" 

"Ain't  he  here?4' 

"No.     What  happened?" 

"Nuthin'.  No  use  goin'  up  against  guns,  ye  know. 
The  tin  soldiers  has  gone  to  bed,  so  us  fellas  is  goin' 
to  do  loikewise." 

"But  wasn't  Dick  with  you?" 

"No.  I  seen  him  go  after  the  militia  from  the  sta- 
tion. I  staid  to  see  if  Jimmy  was  hurt  bad,  ye  re- 
mimber,  an'  whin  I  run  on,  I  didn't  see  'im." 

"But,  Patsy,  where  can  he  be?"  anxiously. 

"I'll  go  out  an'  have  a  look.  Some  durty  scab  may 
a  knocked  him  out — " 

"I'll  go  with  you." 

"Ye'll  not.     Stay  here,  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy." 

He  went  out,  and  Joan  went  back  into  the  kitchen  to 
wait.  She  covered  up  all  the  children  before  she  drew 
her  chair  to  the  window. 

When  Dick  left  the  station  to  run  after  the  militia 
he  had  no  definite  idea  in  his  mind  as  to  where  he  was 
going  or  what  he  intended  to  do.  He  had  seen  sol- 
diers shoot  into  a  crowd  of  unarmed  women  and  chil- 
dren, who  were  doing  no  harm,  breaking  no  law.  He 
felt  he  must  make  his  protest  against  the  whole  system, 
somehow,  this  very  night,  while  this  fury  burned  within 
him. 

He  saw  that  the  crowd  gathered  about  the  soldiers 
in  the  lot,  but  he  did  not  join  it.  He  went  away  over 
to  the  far  corner  away  from  everybody,  and  threw  him- 
self face  down  on  the  ground.  He  was  shaking  all 


2i 8  THE  THRESHOLD 

over  with  excitement,  half  sobbing.  Perhaps  the  thing 
to  do  was  to  kill  himself,  to  get  out  of  a  world  where 
injustice  flourished  and  waxed  fat.  Gregory  Farwell's 
words  came  back  to  him,  meaningless  before — "I  can- 
not live  in  a  world  which  expresses  itself  through  greed 
and  power."  And  yet,  Uncle  Gregory  was  the  root  of 
the  evil.  It  was  because  he  would  not  do  his  share  in 
the  work  of  remaking  the  world,  that  Farwell  was  a 
waste  place.  Maybe  he  had  come  down,  sometime  in 
the  past  and  looked  it  over — maybe  it  had  sickened  him 
as  it  did  Dick  tonight.  He  must  remember  to  find  out 
about  that.  If  he  had  gone  up  the  hill  again  to  his  re- 
mote luxurious  life,  he  was  a  coward.  .  .  .  No — Dick 
could  not  kill  himself,  or  Uncle  Gregory  could  say  the 
same  of  him.  He  must  stay  on  and  fight  the  thing 
through.  Those  men,  shooting  down  little  Jim  Raf- 
ferty  because  Uncle  Gregory's  factory  buildings  must 
be  protected,  forsooth !  Did  the  militia  shoot  down 
Uncle  Gregory,  who  had  been  breaking, the  laws  for 
years — the  state  laws  for  factory  conditions,  as  well 
as  the  laws  of  human  decency?  No — he  was  safe,  be- 
cause he  had  money  and  power.  He  had  not  earned 
either  of  them,  as  Patsy  had,  he  had  merely  inherited 
them,  but  they  were  none  the  less  pregnant  for  that. 
.  .  .  Suppose  he,  Dick,  should  refuse  his  inheritance 
of  the  factories,  refuse  to  take  a  cent  he  did  not  earn? 
But  how  would  that  help  the  boys  here?  It  was 
quicker  for  them,  if  he  stood  by  and  built  up  a  model 
plant ! 

But  he  was  only  one  individual — the  System,  the 
exploitation  of  labour  was  everywhere,  had  always 
been.  What  could  he  do  to  change  it?  To  clean  up 
his  own  little  door  yard — that  was  not  enough !  He 
wanted  to  smash  and  demolish  and  build  again,  hun- 


THE  THRESHOLD  219 

dreds  of  model  factories,  with  a  co-operative 
plan.  .  .  . 

A  yell  from  the  crowd,  in  the  distance,  brought  back 
his  tired,  overwrought  mind  to  the  situation  here,  now 
at  hand.  He  could  smash  and  demolish  and  rebuild 
here  maybe.  Little  Jim  Rafferty  shot  down  for  noth- 
ing, and  a  woman's  face,  as  they  fired,  lifted  them- 
selves before  him  again.  He  lay  perfectly  still  for 
several  minutes  and  then  he  stumbled  stiffly  to  his  feet, 
and  approached  the  crowd.  The  militia  was  setting  up 
camp,  with  the  strikers  watching  and  jeering. 

He  edged  around  to  the  factory  yard — two  sentinels 
patrolled  there.  He  made  a  wide  detour  and  came 
in  among  the  other  buildings.  Sentries  marched  to 
and  fro  there,  also.  Uncle  Gregory's  precious  prop- 
erty was  protected  now  by  the  state.  The  strikers  paid 
taxes  to  the  state  to  support  this  organization,  which 
could  be  turned  upon  them  at  the  call  of  any  property 
owner.  He'd  show  them  what  he  thought  of  the  whole 
damnable  scheme! 

He  hurried  back  across  the  lot  to  Mrs.  Rafferty's 
wood  shed.  He  found  what  he  needed  there  and  ap- 
propriated it.  He  was  conscious  of  the  shouting  and 
hooting  of  the  crowd — he  paused  to  watch  the  way  the 
shadows  shot  across  it  from  the  bonfire  built  by  the 
soldiers.  The  wind  was  high  and  the  flames  leapt  up. 
He  scuttled  into  the  darkness  himself.  He  made  his 
way  into  the  yard  at  back,  crawling  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  dodging  the  sentry,  every  nerve  alert  and 
stretched  to  the  breaking  point.  For  an  hour  he  was 
about  his  work,  making  slow  progress  toward  the  main 
building.  It  took  great  caution.  He  could  only  ad- 
vance as  the  sentry  walked  to  the  end  of  his  beat,  and 
there  was  only  a  second  then,  before  his  fellow  passed, 


220  THE  THRESHOLD 

coming  the  other  direction.  But  the  darkness  helped. 
The  few  lamps  had  been  demolished  by  strikers,  so 
the  sentinels  carried  lanterns. 

After  what  seemed  years  of  waiting  and  crawling 
forward,  Dick  managed  to  get  into  the  basement  win- 
dow which  had  served  him  twice  before.  It  did  not 
take  him  long  to  accomplish  his  purpose  and  then  fol- 
lowed the  tedious  process  of  escape. 

It  was  late  when  he  joined  the  crowd  in  the  lot,  look- 
ing for  Patsy.  The  men  were  beginning  to  fall  away 
toward  the  shanties.  What  use  was  there  in  going 
against  guns?  Death  did  not  help  their  cause.  Dick 
spoke  with  several  of  them — then  he  said  good  night 
and  started  back  toward  the  Raffertys',  when  a  yell 
arose  from  the  guard  at  the  factory.  The  camp  sentry 
answered.  The  strikers  stopped  in  their  tracks.  A 
puff  of  smoke  popped  out  of  a  window,  then  a  faint 
glow  of  colour  appeared  inside. 

"It's  a  fire!"  cried  a  striker.  The  crowd  took  it  up 
—'The  factory's  on  fire!" 

Patsy  realized  the  situation  the  minute  he  rounded 
the  corner  of  the  first  building,  in  his  search  for  Dick. 

"What  you  doin'  here?"  said  a  voice  behind  him 
and  a  rough  hand  laid  hold  of  him. 

He  made  no  answer.  The  guard  called  one  of  his 
fellows  who  in  turn  handed  Patsy  over  to  one  of  Card's 
policemen.  He  took  him  to  the  jail. 

The  village  fire  department  was  called  in,  and  re- 
sponded tardily.  The  wind  was  high  and  the  flames 
had  started  in  every  building  at  once,  so  that  the  fire 
gained  ground  fast.  It  seemed  only  a  minute  until 
great  flambeaux  shot  up  toward  the  heavens  and  threw 
into  high  light  the  mean  little  shanties  that  hugged  the 
factory.  The  whole  sky  glowed  with  light,  even  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  221 

great  house  on  the  hill  was  tinted  with  it's  red.  Greg- 
ory, standing  at  his  window,  remembered  Dick's  Nero 
and  shivered,  even  while  the  fierce  beauty  of  the  sight 
fascinated  him. 

It  may  have  been  half  an  hour,  it  might  have  been 
many  hours  he  watched  it — then  with  a  superb  last  flare 
of  glory — it  sank  down,  and  the  village  was  in  dark- 
ness, as  if  blotted  out  from  him  by  a  huge  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

FROM  every  direction  people  ran  toward  the 
huge  bonfire  that  lighted  the  town.  Half 
dressed,  or  in  hastily  snatched  up  garments,  they 
hurried  to  the  lots.  It  was  like  the  mob  assembling 
in  a  stage  scene.  The  militia  drew  a  fire  line  about 
the  danger  zone.  Inside  that  the  fire  company,  with 
its  meagre  equipment,  fought  bravely  but  futilely 
against  the  encroaching  flames.  Outside  the  line,  the 
lot  was  black  with  onlookers.  Their  voices  rose  and 
fell  in  exclamations,  as  if  they  were  watching  fire- 
works. Nearly  all  the  factory  workers  were  in  the 
crowd,  but  here  and  there  in  the  shanties  some  fright- 
ened woman  was  setting  out  the  few  possessions  in  the 
door  yard,  for  safety.  The  children  were  dressed  and 
the  old  and  crippled  were  hurried  out  in  cots,  or  in 
chairs  so  that  they  might  be  moved  quickly  in  case  of 
need.  The  wind  was  so  high  that  it  would  be  a  miracle 
if  sparks  did  not  fall  on  the  shanties.  They  would 
burn  like  tinder  if  once  they  caught  fire. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement  of  getting  her  moved, 
the  rheumatic  old  woman,  whose  house  Dick  and  Joan 
had  visited  once,  died  of  heart  failure.  When  her 
daughter  discovered  this  fact,  she  knelt  on  the  cold 
ground,  beside  her  dead  until  dawn.  She  never  saw 
the  fire  at  all. 

There  was  as  usual  a  comic  element  in  the  calamity. 
People  dragged  the  wrong  things  into  safety.  One 
distracted  woman  emptied  her  house  entirely,  except 

222 


THE  THRESHOLD  223 

for  the  baby,  who  slept  through  the  clatter  and  excite- 
ment. 

Joan,  at  the  first  sight  of  flames,  hurried  to  arouse 
Mrs.  Rafferty.  Together  they  dressed  the  children 
and  set  Jimmy's  cot  out  of  doors. 

"You  stay  here  with  them,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  and  let  me 
go  to  look  for  the  boys,"  Joan  said. 

"Don't  worry — they're  all  roight — "  the  older 
women  assured  her. 

"But  Patsy  had  not  seen  Dick  for  an  hour  or  more. 
Something  may  have  happened  to  him." 

She  made  her  way  across  the  lot.  Great  tapers  of 
flame  pierced  the  night  sky.  The  memory  of  Whiting 
came  to  her,  with  her  own  phrase — "Altar  fires  of 
modern  commercialism."  Her  mind  was  too  para- 
lyzed with  the  shock  of  the  disaster  to  question  its 
origin  in  any  way.  She  had  felt  a  premonition  about 
Dick,  ever  since  she  had  watched  him  go  from  the 
station.  She  saw  his  face  the  moment  before  he  ran 
after  the  militia,  and  it  terrified  her.  Her  fear  was 
that  something  dreadful  had  happened  to  him.  She 
pushed  her  way  up  to  the  fire  and  spoke  to  the  militia 
men — 

"Has  anybody  been  hurt?" 

"Not  as  far  as  I  know." 

"Could  you  find  out  from  somebody?" 

"I  could  not." 

"How  did  it  start?" 

"Some  fella  set  it  afire — " 

"Set  it  afire—?" 

"Sure — one  of  yer  strikers.  State's  prison  fer  him 
all  right,  all  right." 

"But  do  they  know  who  did  it?" 

"Sure — they  got  him." 


224  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Who  was  it?"  she  whispered. 

"I  don't  know.  They  got  him  in  the  lock-up  all 
right.  Friend  of  yours?" 

She  turned  away  and  skirted  the  crowd,  making  her 
way  to  the  village  street.  Once  there,  she  hurried  to 
the  old  jail.  It  was  all  shut  up  and  she  could  not  get 
inside.  She  leaned  up  against  the  door,  her  head 
against  the  panel,  and  tried  to  think.  Somebody  must 
help  her — she  would  try  to  get  Gregory. 

At  the  Raffertys'  she  found  one  child  on  guard  over 
Jimmy  but  Mrs.  Rafferty  and  the  other  youngsters  had 
been  unable  to  resist  the  excitement. 

"Patsy  hasn't  been  here?"  Joan  demanded. 

"No'm." 

"Nor  Dick?" 

"No'm.  Plaze,  Miss  Babcock,  stay  wit  Jimmy  an' 
let  me  go  to  the  fire?" 

"All  right.     Find  your  mother  and  stay  with  her." 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  rocket. 

"I  want  to  go — I  can  walk  all  right,"  begged  Jimmy. 

"Oh,  Jimmy  dear,  stay  with  me.  I  don't  want  to 
go,"  wailed  Joan. 

He  patted  her  awkwardly. 

"All  roight — all  roight,"  he  said  soothingly. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  I'm  afraid,"  she  whispered. 

"Don't  ye  be  afraid — thim  foires  can't  git  way  over 
here—" 

"It  isn't  the  fire,  Jimmy — " 

A  figure  zig-zagged  down  the  street  unevenly  and 
turned  in  the  gate.  Joan  rose  quickly. 

"Dick!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  turned  a  white  vacant  face  toward  her,  with 
glowing  unnatural  eyes. 

"It  burns  and  burns,"  he  said. 


THE  THRESHOLD  225 

"Dick,  where  have  you  been?" 

"Out  there,  where  they  shot  them — shot  the  woman 
an'  lil'  Jimmy  Rafferty — "  his  voice  trailed  off  into 
nothing. 

She  peered  at  him  closely.     He  could  not  be  drunk. 

"He's  a  coward — they  shot  them,"  he  cried — 
"women  and  Jimmy  Rafferty." 

"Jimmy's  here,  Dick,  he  isn't  badly  hurt,"  she  said. 
Jimmy  began  to  whimper  with  fright. 

"It's  all  wrong — I  can't  bear  it — but  I  couldn't — " 

"Dick,  come  to  bed,  dear — you're  worn  out  with 
excitement,"  she  begged,  trying  to  lead  him  indoors. 

"No — I  got  to  fight  it  out,"  he  answered  wearily. 

She  realized  that  he  was  511  now — that  the  shock  had 
been  too  much.  She  coaxed  him,  and  petted  him  and 
plead  with  him  tmtil  she  got  him  indoors,  and  finally 
into  bed. 

"I  want  Joan,"  he  said  over  and  over — "she  can 
help  me." 

"This  is  Joan,  Dick.  See — I'm  here,  dear.  I  shall 
not  leave  you." 

"Not  you — Joan.  She  can  help  me.  She  explains 
things — " 

She  dared  not  leave  him  to  go  to  the  doctor  and  no 
one  was  within  call.  She  went  to  the  door  and  ex- 
plained to  Jimmy  and  asked  him  to  summon  any  one  he 
saw  and  to  lie  still,  and  help  her,  because  Dick  was  very 
sick.  Then  she  sat  down  beside  the  lad  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  hot  head  and  tried  to  comfort  him.  But 
her  words  never  reached  that  poor  tortured  brain.  He 
went  over  and  over  the  shooting,  and  cried  over  little 
Jim  Rafferty. 

"Uncle  Greg  shot  him — poor  Jim — he  didn't  do  a 
thing,"  he  moaned. 


226  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Oh,  Dick,  don't  say  that.  Why,  Uncle  Gregory 
wouldn't  hurt  a  living  thing — he  never  saw  Jim — "  she 
protested. 

"He  shot  him — I  saw  it,"  he  said  and  went  over  it 
all  again. 

The  light  from  the  fire  sent  great  waves  across  the 
room,  as  if  a  searchlight  was  playing  over  the  district. 
Joan  shuddered  and  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"Oh,  God — is  this  my  work?"  she  sobbed. 

Dick's  voice  went  on  and  on. 

Gregory  started  from  the  Hall  in  a  runabout  which 
he  drove  himself.  He  had  not  called  any  servants  or 
spoken  of  the  fire.  It  was  not  the  fire  which  he  con- 
cerned himself  with,  it  was  Dick  and  Joan.  The  strik- 
ers had  managed  to  use  the  torch,  obviously,  but  there 
had  been,  no  doubt,  riot  and  trouble  before  they  suc- 
ceeded. He  must  know  whether  his  two  were  safe. 

Perhaps  the  strikers  had  helped  him  out  of  his  quan- 
dary— with  the  factory  gone,  his  two  radicals  might 
come  home. 

He  tore  along  the  dark  roads  and  into  the  town. 
He  saw  the  big  crowd.  He  left  his  car  in  the  road,  and 
hurried  to  the  fire  line.  There  he  spoke  to  the  first 
man  he  met. 

"What's  this?     Are  you  a  member  of  the  militia?" 

"Sure." 

"When  did  the  militia  come?" 

"Tonight— 9  :20." 

"Who  called  you?" 

"The  mayor.     Who  are  you  ?" 

"I'm  Mr.  Farwell — the  owner  of  the  factory.  Any- 
body hurt  here?" 

"Nope.     Got  the  fella  who  started  it — he's  in  jail." 

"So  ?     Trouble  before  the  fire  ?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  227 

"We  shot  'em  up  a  bit,  at  the  station." 

"On  whose  orders?" 

"They  started  it." 

"Were  they  armed?" 

"Somebody  had  a  gun  and  used  it.  We  returned  the 
compliment." 

"Who  was  hit?" 

"Several  of  'em,  I  guess." 

"Any  dead?" 

"I  dunno.  Do  you  want  to  go  through  and  speak 
to  the  Fire  Marshall,  Mr.  Farwell?" 

"No." 

Gregory  turned  and  with  his  cap  pulled  low  over 
his  face,  he  went  through  the  crowd  looking  for  his 
strikers.  He  saw  no  sign  of  them.  He  did  not  want 
to  speak  to  any  one  for  fear  of  being  recognized.  If 
he  was,  and  they  started  a  demonstration  against  him, 
he  would  be  delayed  in  getting  to  Dick,  who  might 
need  him.  If  he  only  knew  where  Joan  roomed. 

"Is  Jim  hurt  bad,  Mrs.  Rafferty?"  a  voice  near  him 
said. 

Rafferty,  that  was  the  name  of  the  boy  who  went 
with  Dick  on  the  trip  west.  He  waited  until  he  could 
get  a  chance  and  then  he  spoke  to  the  woman. 

"Mrs.  Rafferty,  I'm  Mr.  Farwell.  I'm  looking  for 
Dick  and  Joan.  Can  you  help  me?" 

She  started  and  stared  at  him.  All  the  years  she 
had  hated  him,  she  had  thought  of  speeches  to  hurl  at 
him,  if  she  ever  had  a  chance,  the  arrogant  over-lord  I 
All  she  saw  was  an  anxious-faced  man,  who  humbly 
asked  her  help. 

"Dick  is  lost  an'  Joan  wint  to  foind  him." 

"Your  son — would  he  know — ?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  fer  hours — " 


228  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  my  nephew  and  Miss  Bab- 
cock  live  ?" 

"She's  got  a  room  at  the  Swigerts'  in  the  village, 
an'  he  lives  with  us." 

"Could  I  go  to  your  house — he  might  have  come 
back  by  this  time,  mightn't  he?" 

She  started  toward  the  shanties,  without  a  word, 
Gregory  following.  He  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing 
of  the  confusion  about  him ! 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  Rafferty  cabin, 
Jimmy  set  up  a  shout.  Mrs.  Rafferty  began  to  run 
and  Gregory  kept  pace  with  her.  Jimmy  started  an 
explanation,  as  they  approached,  which  brought  Joan 
to  the  door. 

"Gregory—"  she  cried,  "it's  Dick—" 

"He  isn't  dead?" 

"No— but  he's  terribly  ill.     The  shock—" 

He  stepped  inside  the  damp,  miserable  room,  where 
Dick  tossed  on  a  cot.  The  only  light  came  from  the 
lamp  in  the  hall.  Joan  brought  it  in  and  held  it  so 
Gregory  could  see  his  nephew. 

"Uncle  Greg  shot  him — poor  li'l  Jimmy— he  didn't 
do  anything — "  the  dull  voice  went  on. 

"What's  he  saying?"  Gregory  demanded. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  want  Joan — " 

"He  doesn't  know  me,"  she  explained. 

"How  long  has  he  been  like  this?" 

"I  don't  know — it  seems  years.  He  staggered  in 
from  the  fire  and  I  got  him  to  bed." 

"We  must  get  the  doctor  here,"  Gregory  said.  "I'll 
go  for  him." 

She  nodded  and  he  went  away.  Joan  helped  Mrs. 
Rafferty  to  carry  Jim's  cot  into  the  kitchen.  The  fire 


THE  THRESHOLD  229 

was  dying  down  now,  and  people  were  drifting  home- 
wards. 

"You  didn't  see  Patsy?"  she  inquired  of  her  friend. 

"No — he'll  turn  up — he's  somewheres,"  she  re- 
plied cheerfully. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  until  Gregory  came  with  the 
doctor.  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  summoned  and  she  and 
Joan  answered  his  many  questions  as  well  as  they  could. 

"He  has  had  a  very  serious  nervous  shock,  I  should 
say,"  he  said  finally. 

"We  must  get  him  to  the  Hall  at  once,"  Gregory 
remarked.  "We  can  put  a  cot  in  a  big  car — " 

"I  wouldn't  move  him  now,  Mr.  Farwell,"  the  doc- 
tor objected. 

"But  he  can't  stay  in  this  place — it's  damp  and 
awful — "  Gregory  began. 

"All  my  children  hive  lived  in  it — most  av  'em  were 
born  in  ut — an'  it's  your  house,  ye  know,"  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty said  hotly. 

''Maybe  by  tonight  we  could  move  him — but  not 
now,"  the  doctor  .epeated.  "I'll  give  him  a  sleeping 
powder,  and  he  must  have  absolute  quiet,  Mrs.  Raf- 
erty.  Can  you  manage  that?"  he  asked  kindly. 

"lean."  ' 

The  doctor  administered  the  dose  and  offered  to 
stay  the  night  out.  It  was  nearing  dawn  now.  The 
Rafferty  children  trooped  home  and  were  hushed  and 
gotten  to  bed  by  their  mother.  The  fire  was  over — the 
factory  in  ruins.  Gregory,  Joan  and  the  doctor  sat 
in  the  Rafferty  parlour,  and  listened  to  Dick's  moaning. 

"Won't  you  go  to  your  room  and  rest?"  Gregory 
said  to  the  girl  finally. 

"No,  thanks,  I  couldn't." 

The  powder  finally  toek  effect  and  the  voice  was 


230  THE  THRESHOLD 

silent.  The  doctor  went  away  to  get  his  breakfast. 
At  broad  daylight  Dick  had  one  flash  of  consciousness, 
and  in  that  moment  he  recognized  Gregory. 

"No — no — no — Go  away!"  he  cried.  "Don't  touch 
me — you  shot  Jimmy  Rafferty  and  he  didn't  do  a  thing. 
Go  away  from  here — I  won't  have  you — Joan — 
Joan—" 

"Yes,  Dick,  yes." 

"Make  him  go  away.     Don't  let  him  hurt  Patsy— -" 

"No — he  doesn't  want  to  hurt  him.  He  loves  you, 
Dick,"  she  said  brokenly,  holding  the  boy's  head  against 
her  breast.  He  clung  to  her  frantically. 

"I'll  never  go  back  to  the  Hall — take  him  away." 

"All  right,  Dick,  I'll  go,"  said  Gregory,  and  left 
them. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Joan  could  get  Dick 
quieted,  but  at  last  he  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep.  She 
went  to  the  door  to  see  if  Gregory  was  outside,  but 
there  were  no  signs  of  him.  The  anguish  in  his  face 
when  he  had  left  the  room  haunted  her. 

The  Raffertys  like  all  the  rest  of  the  district,  slept 
late.  Joan  longed  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  but  she  had  not 
the  heart  to  waken  those  who  slept  in  the  kitchen. 
The  doctor  came  again,  left  more  powders,  shook  his 
head  at  her  recital  of  Dick's  outburst  against  his  uncle. 

"Mr.  Farwell  is  at  my  house  now,  waiting  for  word 
of  him.  I  think  we  must  humour  him  now.  We  can 
manage  with  him  somehow,  here,  can't  we?" 

"Yes.     Mrs.  Rafferty  is  kindness  itself." 

"I'll  have  a  talk  with  her.  We  can  get  in  some 
things  to  make  him  comfortable  and  a  nurse — " 

"Couldn't  I  take  care  of  him,  Doctor?" 

"You  can  help — but  I  want  a  regular  nurse  in  here 
for  a  time.  When  she  comes,  by  the  way,  you  go 


THE  THRESHOLD  231 

home,  take  this,  and  sleep  until  I  call  you,"  he  ordered. 

"I'm  all  right.     There  is  Mrs.  Rafferty  now." 

After  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  finished  their 
talk,  Joan  had  a  cup  of  coffee  with  the  disheveled  fam- 
ily. 

"You  aren't  anxious  about  Patsy?"  she  asked  again. 

"Love  av  Mike,  gurl,  I'd  spind  me  toime  frettin* 
if  I  was  loike  you.  Patsy  can  take  care  of  hissilf.  He 
comes  an'  goes,  loike  it  plazes  him.  He'll  turn  up  all 
roight." 

About  noon  the  nurse  came,  and  Joan,  tottering 
with  weariness  and  nerves  was  sent  to  her  room  for  a 
long  rest.  Mrs.  Rafferty  promised  to  come  for  her  if 
Dick  woke  up  and  asked  for  her.  She  did  not  so  much 
as  glance  at  the  ruins  as  she  went  along —  She  was 
too  worn  out  to  care  about  anything.  Once  in  her 
room,  she  fell  on  her  bed,  with  her  clothes  on,  and 
remembered  nothing  for  hours. 

For  all  of  Mrs.  Rafferty's  reassurance  of  Joan,  she 
was  not  entirely  easy  in  her  mind  about  her  oldest  born. 
So  after  the  nurse  was  installed,  Joan  sent  off  and  the 
children  driven  forth,  she  set  out  on  a  still  hunt.  She 
went  first  to  Grady's  saloon.  The  entire  male  popula- 
tion of  the  district  was  there.  She  inquired  about  her 
son — no  one  had  seen  him. 

"I  seen  him  about  eleven  o'clock  last  night,  just  be- 
fore the  fire  broke  out,  an'  he  was  askin'  fer  Dick  an' 
sayin'  he  was  goin'  home  to  bed." 

"Dick's  in  bed  at  my  house  with  brain  fever  er 
somethin',  but  Patsy  ain't  showed  up — " 

"Have  ye  tried  the  jail,  Mrs.  Rafferty?" 

"I  have  not." 

"Better  take  a  look  there.  Card  would  git  Pat,  if 
he  could,  ye  know." 


232  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Much  obliged — 'tis  an  idea!"  said  the  Irish  woman 
and  went  to  the  jail. 

"Is  my  son  Patsy  in  here?"  she  demanded  of  the 
clerk. 

"He  is." 

"What  for?" 

"Settin'  fire  to  the  factories." 
;'Tisadurtylie!" 

"Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  or  you'll  get  the 
cell  next  to  him." 

"When  did  they  git  him?" 

"Last  night,  just  after  the  fire  broke  out.  He'll 
get  State's  Prison  all  right." 

Mrs.  Rafferty  made  no  answer.  She  went  out  and 
down  the  street.  At  her  own  gate  she  saw  the  car 
from  the  Hall.  Gregory  was  inside  speaking  with 
the  nurse. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Rafferty,"  he  said. 

"My  bye  is  in  jail  fer  burnin*  yer  factory.  He 
didn't  do  ut.  I  want  ye  to  go  down  there  an'  git  him 
out." 

"But,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  I'm  told  they  have  evidence 
against  him  that — " 

"I  tell  ye — he  didn't  do  ut.  I'm  a-doin'  what  I 
can  fer  your  boy.  What'll  you  do  for  mine?,'1 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  challenge  which  Mrs.  Rafferty  threw 
down  to  Gregory  was  one  he  could  not  avoid, 
and  it  was  one  he  disliked  taking  up.  It  was 
true  that  at  the  moment  he  was  indebted  to  her  for 
kindness  to  Dick  and  to  Joan,  but  the  testimony  of  the 
guards  who  had  arrested  Patsy  provided  indisputable 
circumstantial  evidence  of  his  guilt.  If  this  trouble- 
maker had  deliberately  set  fire  to  the  factory  and 
burned  it  to  ashes,  Gregory  argued  that  he  must  be 
prosecuted,  and  punished  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law, 
no  matter  how  hard  it  was  on  his  mother.  This  kind 
of  strike  lawlessness  must  be  crushed  out  and  all  such 
offenders  should  be  dealt  with  summarily,  to  his  think- 
ing. 

He  urged  his  lawyers  to  use  every  effort  to  find 
more  conclusive  evidence  than  that  Patsy  was  caught 
near  the  building,  but  he  was  determined  to  have  the 
incendiary  made  an  example. 

The  news  that  Patsy  had  been  refused  bail  aroused 
Mrs.  Rafferty  to  fury. 

"He  niver  done  it,  I  tell  ye.  It's  a  frame-up !"  she 
said  to  Joan,  who  was  heating  Dick's  broth  in  the 
kitchen. 

"The  truth  will  come  out  at  the  trial,  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty— "  Joan  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"Why  don't  ye  tell  that  Farwell  frind  av  yours  that 
he  didn't  do  ut?"  hotly. 

The  girl  made  no  answer.  Mrs.  Rafferty  went  to 

233 


234  THE  THRESHOLD 

her,  laid  heavy  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  turned  her 
so  she  could  look  in  her  face. 

"Why  don't  ye  tell  him?"  she  repeated. 

Joan  dropped  her  head  on  the  big  woman's  breast 
for  a  moment,  then  she  said  wearily — 

"Dear  Mrs.  Rafferty,  I'm  afraid  Patsy  did  do  it." 

The  Irish  woman  shook  her. 

"Ye've  gone  back  on  us!" 

"No — no — how  can  you  say  that?  It's  nearly 
driven  me  crazy,  the  thought  that  I  couldn't  go  and 
get  him  off  at  once,  because  I  was  probably  the  last  per- 
son to  talk  to  him,  that  night." 

"Well?" 

"I  go  over  it  and  over  it,  just  like  poor  Dick." 

"Tell  me,"  the  older  woman  commanded. 

"I  sat  here,  after  you  and  Jimmy  had  gone  to  bed 
in  the  parlour,  thinking  and  waiting  for  the  boys  to 
come  home.  I  heard  some  one  in  the  shed — the  pails 
rattled,  as  if  a  man  stumbled  over  them.  I  thought  it 
"was  the  boys  so  I  opened  the  door  and  called  them. 
Nobody  answered.  Then  I  was  frightened.  I  shut 
the  door  and  watched.  I  saw  some  man  run,  carry- 
ing a  can." 

"A  can?" 

"The  kerosene  can  that  was  missing  next  day.  You 
remember?  I  could  hardly  bear  it  when  you  looked 
for  it—" 

The  old  woman's  red  face  was  chalky  white,  but  she 
stood  there  like  a  prisoner  waiting  to  be  shot. 

"Go  on,"  she  said. 

"I  came  to  the  door  to  call  you,  but  you  were  sleep- 
ing and  I  knew  how  tired  you  were,  so  I  went  back  to 
the  kitchen.  Presently  Patsy  came  in.  I  asked  about 
Dick — he  said  he  hadn't  seen  him  for  an  hour  or  two. 


THE  THRESHOLD  235 

I  was  anxious  about  him,  so  he  offered  to  go  look  for 
him." 

"Did  ye  spake  wid  him  about  what  ye  seen?" 

"No." 

"Ye  think  he'd  started  the  foire  before  he  came  into 
the  house?" 

"I — I  don't  know  what  I  think!" 

"If  he'd  started  it  before  he  come  in,  he  wuz  a  fool 
to  go  out  again.  His  alibi  was  bed." 

"I  tell  you  I  don't  know — the  fire  was  blazing  by  the 
time  he  got  back  there,  I'm  sure." 

"He  couldn't  a-done  it  the  second  trip,  then — " 

"No.     But  the  kerosene  can — " 

"There's  a  can  loike  that  in  the  lean-to  av  every 
shanty  in  the  row — "  hotly.' 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Rafferty,  don't  speak  like  that.  If 
he  did  it,  I  know  he  did  it  because  he  thought  it  had 
to  be  done  that  way.  You  and  Patsy  are  the  best 
friends  I  have  and  I'd  cut  my  tongue  out  before  I'd  say 
a  word  to  harm  or  hurt  either  of  you.  Only  you  see, 
I  just  can't  go  to  Mr.  Farwell  with  this  doubt  in  my 
mind." 

"i  here's  no  doubt  in  my  moind.  He  didn't  do  ut 
— that's  all  there  is  to  ut." 

"Won't  they  let  you  see  him?" 

"Not  till  after  the  trial." 

"Have  they  set  the  day  for  it?" 

"Yis — 'tis  to  be  on  Friday,  the  I3th.  A  foine 
chanct  he's  got  to  get  off  that  day." 

"Justice  works  on  Friday,  too,"  Joan  began. 

"Justice — don't  make  me  laff!" 

"Have  you  heard  what  the  Union  has  decided  to  do 
about  paying  strike  benefits?  I  suppose  with  the  fac- 
tories burned,  the  strike  is  over." 


236  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  hear  they'll  pay  until  the  I5th.  After  that  we 
can  git  out  an'  foind  other  jobs  or  we  can  sthay  on  here, 
in  our  usual  luxury  an'  stharve." 

The  nurse  came  to  the  door. 

"Mr.  Norton's  broth?" 

"Oh — forgive  me — I  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Rafferty 
about  something  of  great  importance,  and  I  forgot  it. 
May  I  give  it  to  him?" 

"If  you  like." 

Joan  went  into  the  room  where  Dick  lay.  He  was 
still  delirious  when  he  was  not  in  a  stupor.  The  days 
since  the  fire  had  brought  no  relief  to  the  poor  over- 
wrought boy,  and  the  whole  district  hung  over  him, 
with  the  same  anxiety  that  Joan  and  Gregory  shared. 
Doctors  had  come  down  from  New  York  for  consulta- 
tion, and  to  Gregory's  urgence  that  the  boy  could  not 
be  left  to  die  in  this  hovel,  they  replied  that  he  could 
not  be  moved  now — he  must  be  kept  as  quiet  as  possi- 
ble. They  gave  the  local  doctor  full  directions  and 
arranged  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  case. 

It  was  a  week  after  their  visit,  with  Dick's  con- 
dition still  unchanged  when  Joan  broached  the  subject 
in  her  thoughts  to  Gregory.  He  came  to  the  shack 
every  morning  at  ten  to  get  full  particulars  of  the  night; 
he  returned  at  five  to  hear  the  report  of  the  day.  He 
never  stepped  inside  Dick's  room,  but  his  white,  care- 
lined  face  bore  witness  of  what  was  going  on  in  his 
mind. 

"Well,  Joan?"  he  asked  eagerly  every  morning. 

"No  change  yet,  Gregory,"  she  answered  him.  "I 
want  to  suggest  something,  please,"  she  added  one 
morning. 

"Yes?" 

"I  think  perhaps  we  would  better  move  the  Raffertys 


THE  THRESHOLD  237 

somewhere  else  until  the  crisis  is  over.  They  are  per- 
fectly wonderful,  but  you  see,  Jimmy's  crutch,  stump- 
ing around  the  house  makes  a  noise,  and  they're  com- 
ing and  going.  It  is  so  tiny,  and  the  walls  are  paper — " 

"Yes — yes — by  all  means,  move  them.  I  should 
have  thought  of  it  before,  only  every  day  I  hoped  we 
could  take  him  home — " 

"Will  you  go  with  me  to  look  for  other  quarters 
for  them?" 

"Oh — no — you  know  about  this  district — " 

"I  want  you  to  come,  please.  The  Raffertys  have 
been  very  good  to  us — " 

"All  right.     Shall  we  go  now?" 

Joan  took  him  first  to  the  tumble-down  old  shack 
where  she  had  taken  Dick,  to  visit  the  old  woman,  who 
died  during  the  fire.  The  daughter,  in  black,  with  a 
tear-stained  face,  let  them  in.  Joan  explained,  and  led 
Gregory  about.  He  looked  like  a  man  in  Purgatory. 

"I  suppose  we  couldn't  put  those  children  here,"  she 
said. 

"No — no,"  he  agreed  hastily. 

She  led  the  way  through  the  entire  district.  She 
took  him  into  tumble-down,  filthy  shanties  where  people 
swarmed.  Everywhere  they  went,  hate  looked  out  of 
eyes  at  Gregory.  He  had  not  reduced  his  relation  to 
Farwell  to  its  personal  element.  To  him  the  district 
was  a  blot — it  did  not  exist — to  the  district  he  was  the 
arch-fiend,  to  be  hated,  frustrated,  harmed,  if  possible. 

It  was  all  a  sickening  revelation  to  him,  but  this  day 
he  was  looking  at  its  ugly  body,  and  worse,  into  its  hate- 
begrimed  soul.  What  he  saw  there,  terrified  him,  be- 
cause he  was  beginning  to  see  what  had  happened  to 
Dick,  how  this  sordidness  had  burned  into  his  young 
mind,  until  it  had  set  his  thoughts  aflame. 


23  8  THE  THRESHOLD 

He  glanced  at  Joan,  now  and  then.  Cool,  aloof, 
she  led  the  way.  A  kind  inquiry,  a  tactful  remark,  an 
offer  of  help  paved  her  way  with  the  strikers.  They 
were  sullen  with  Gregory — but  they  were  evidently 
fond  of  Joan.  Everywhere  people  demanded  the  last 
news  of  Dick. 

When  the  end  of  the  ugly  journey  was  reached,  Joan 
said  in  a  business-like  way, 

"I  think  the  Gradys'  is  the  best  place — don't  you?" 

"But  the  roof  leaks  there." 

"All  the  roofs  leak.  Your  agent  doesn't  think  roofs 
need  repair." 

"The  gardener  out  at  the  Hall  might  take  them  for 
a  while." 

"That  would  be  great  for  Jimmy — country  and  de- 
cent food." 

They  came  to  the  shanty  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  stood  at 
the  door.  Joan  explained  to  her  the  idea,  and  asked 
her,  most  tactfully,  if  the  children  could  go  to  the  Hall 
for  a  week. 

"They  can  not.  I'll  be  beholden  to  him  fer  nuthin'," 
she  replied. 

"But  I'd  be  beholden  to  you,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  for  let- 
ting Dick  have  the  house — " 

"I'll  do  ye  no  kindnesses,"  replied  the  Irish  woman 
bitterly. 

"But  Dick,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  surely  you'll  do  him  a 
kindness — one  more  added  to  your  many.  If  you 
won't  let  the  children  go  to  the  Hall,  will  you  let  them 
go  to  the  Gradys'  only  for  a  while?  Mrs.  Grady  will 
take  them  in,  and  there'll  be  no  rent  while  Dick  has 
the  house,  so  you  could  pay  the  Gradys  a  bit —  couldn't 
you?  We  would  like  you  to  stay  here  and  help  us,  if 
you  would,  as  assistant  nurse,  on  salary?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  239 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  the  old  woman,  ungra- 
ciously. 

So  Gregory  went  away,  up  to  the  Hall,  with  this 
new  vision  of  Inferno  which  Joan  had  sent  home  with 
him.  Would  he  ever  be  free  of  it  again?  He  looked 
out  on  the  sweep  of  clean  open  country,  and  a  vision 
of  stagnant  greenish  waters,  with  rusty  tin  cans,  old 
shoes  and  *paper  boxes  floating  on  it,  rose  before  him. 
What  would  an  outlook  like  that  do  to  a  human  mind? 
The  smell  of  cold,  musty  dampness  was  in  his  nose,  the 
chill  of  those  rooms  made  him  shiver,  even  before  his 
own  fire.  The  filth,  the  left-over,  unwashed  break- 
fast dishes,  the  dirty,  sullen  women,  the  thin,  half- 
dressed  children — Ugh  1  Was  this  the  world  Joan 
had  come  out  of?  He  thought  of  her  fine,  friendly 
understanding  of  them,  the  way  she  took  them  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

It  was  into  this  world  she  had  taken  Dick,  all  soft 
and  unprepared  for  its  revelations.  Was  it  any  won- 
der that  it  had  been  too  terrible  for  him?  That  his 
poor  fevered  mind  went  over  and  over  each  step  in  the 
tragic  march  of  events?  How  they  swept  him  on  and 
out,  and  down !  His  poor,  little-boy  Dick,  who  could 
not  endure  the  sight  of  him,  even  when  delirium  held 
sway  in  his  disordered  thoughts.  That  was  the  deep- 
est hurt  of  all. 

The  little  Raffertys  were  moved  to  the  Gradys  in  due 
time,  and  became  the  most  envied  youngsters  in  the  dis- 
trict, because  the  young  Gradys  were  six  in  number 
themselves,  so  the  accession  of  five  more  was  a  real 
lark.  Mrs.  Rafferty  remained  in  charge  of  her  own 
cabin,  cooking  for  the  invalid  and  the  nurse.  Joan 
practically  moved  over,  herself,  taking  turns  with  the 
nurse  in  the  actual  care  of  the  sick  boy.  He  called  for 


240  THE  THRESHOLD 

her  constantly,  although  he  did  not  know  her,  when 
she  sat  with  him. 

Time  seemed  to  have  stopped  for  those  anxious 
friends  who  watched  over  him.  The  news  of  the  dis- 
trict filtered  through  to  them,  as  if  from  a  world  they 
had  left.  The  militia  had  departed,  the  scabs  had 
vanished.  Some  of  the  strikers  had  found  work  in  the 
village;  the  rest  were  beginning  to  plan  to  move  on, 
as  soon  as  the  strike  benefits  ceased.  Saunders,  re- 
covered from  his  wound,  was  told  by  Mr.  Farwell  that 
all  plans  in  regard  to  the  factories,  depended  on  Dick's 
recovery.  Nothing  could  be  done  at  present.  When 
Saunders  circulated  this  information  at  Grady's  saloon, 
indignation  at  the  owner  grew. 

"What's  it  to  King  Farwell  that  some  of  us  have 
worked  in  his  factory  and  lived  in  his  stinkin'  holes 
fer  five  years?"  cried  one  of  the  men. 

"If  you  burn  down  his  property,  you  can't  expect  him 
to  give  you  a  pension,  out  o'  gratitude,  can  you?"  in- 
quired Saunders. 

"How  do  you  know  we  burned  down  his  factory?" 

"Everybody  knows  that  devil  Rafferty  done  it. 
They'll  prove  it  on  him,  at  the  trial,  believe  me !" 

"Supposin'  he  did  do  it — the  Union  had  nothin'  to  do 
with  it.  We  ain't  told  him  to  burn  it — " 

"Well,  you  be'n  so  crazy  to  git  yer  unions  in  here, 
an'  now  you  see  what  happens.  I  told  you  to  let  'em 
alone.  It  don't  make  any  difference  -whether  the 
Union  ordered  him  to  do  it,  er  not.  It  was  all  a  part 
of  the  strike,  an'  you  fellas  will  pay  the  piper." 

"Will  we?  Well,  mebbe  we  ain't  through  with 
King  Farwell  yet!  Mebbe  he'll  come  in  on  the 
bill!" 

"I'll  remember  you  warned  me,  Tim,"  replied  Saun- 


THE  THRESHOLD  241 

ders,  meaningly,  "it  may  be  of  interest  to  the  judge." 

Saunders  went  out  and  the  talk  ran  high.  The  situ- 
ation was  desperate  for  the  men.  No  work  in  sight — 
only  a  few  more  days  of  sure  provision  for  their  fami- 
Ires,  and  now  Farwell  announced  that  he  would  do 
nothing. 

"If  anything  happened  to  Farwell,  young  Norton 
would  have  charge  of  the  factories,"  Tim  said  slowly 
and  with  intent. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  then  some  one  muttered, 

"Dick  may  not  get  well." 

"Just  somethin'  to  remember,"  remarked  Tim 
quietly. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  Patsy's  trial,  excitement 
in  the  district  grew  intense.  Mrs.  Rafferty  engaged  a 
lawyer  to  defend  him,  and  never  for  an  instant  did  her 
belief  in  his  innocence  waver. 

The  day  before  the  event,  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  away 
nearly  all  day.  She  did  not  talk  to  Joan  about  her 
plans,  since  her  admission  of  doubt  about  Patsy.  The 
nurse  had  gone  for  her  walk,  and  Joan  sat  in  the  silent 
hous«  beside  Dick.  He  had  been  quieter  than  usual, 
sleeping  heavily  all  day.  The  doctor  had  come  in 
twice  to  look  at  him.  He  refused  to  commit  himself 
as  to  the  patient's  condition. 

After  he  left,  Joan  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands, 
with  an  incoherent  appeal  to  God  to  help  Dick.  The 
shrill  scream  of  children  running  past  the  house  roused 
her.  She  went  to  close  the  window,  that  the  sound 
might  not  arouse  the  patient.  A  soiled  envelope  was 
lying  on  the  window  sill,  folded  twice.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  sweeping  it  out  into  the  yard,  when  something 
prompted  her  to  take  it  up.  She  unfolded  it  and  read 
in  a  pencil  scrawl — ; 


242  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Dick — It's  all  right.  Keep  mum  about  anything  ye 
know.  Yours,  Patsy." 

She  read  it  twice.  How  had  it  come  there?  Did 
Dick  know  about  the  plan  to  burn  the  factory?  Could 
he  save  Patsy,  if  only  he  could  speak? 

She  went  to  sit  beside  him,  leaning  over  him,  try- 
ing to  call  to  his  spirit  with  her  own.  She  concen- 
trated her  full  force  upon  him.  He  lay  perfectly  still, 
with  eyes  closed,  breathing  heavily. 

"Dick!"  she  said  urgently.     "Dick!" 

Her  voice  seemed  to  pierce  the  thick  non-conscious- 
ness that  divided  them.  Slowly,  slowly,  his  eyes 
opened,  and  fixed  themselves  on  her,  expressionless  as 
usual. 

"Dick — Patsy  needs  you — needs  you  so  terribly," 
she  said  earnestly. 

"Patsy?"  he  said  thickly. 

"Can  you  hear  me,  Dick?  .  .  Can  you  understand 
me?" 

He  inclined  his  head  just  a  shade. 

"Try  to  come  back,  Dick — come  back  and  help  us!" 

"Help— you?" 

She  felt  his  mind  grappling  with  ideas,  trying  to 
hold  them,  to  get  control.  Should  she  risk  shocking 
him  with  the  news  of  the  disaster  which  the  fire  had 
proved  to  his  best  friend?  It  might  unhinge  his  mind 
forever,  or  it  might  strike  it  into  action,  and  so  save 
him.  If  only  some  one  were  here  to  advise  her — or  to 
forbid  her—" 

"Joan—" 

"You  know  me,  Dick?" 

He  felt  for  her  hand — it  touched  the  crumpled  en- 
velope. 

"That's  for  you — from  Patsy." 


THE  THRESHOLD  243 

He  took  it,  but  did  not  try  to  read  it. 

"You've  been  ill  a  long  time — since  the  fire — " 

A  look  of  terror  swept  across  his  face  at  that,  and 
she  stopped,  afraid  to  go  on. 

"You're  better  now — you're  getting  well — " 

She  saw  that  he  was  trying  to  get  hold  of  facts,  of 
something  back  there  in  consciousness. 

"Patsy — ?"  he  said,  finally. 

"Patsy  is  in  jail,"  she  answered,  risking  it  all. 

He  frowned  over  that,  trying  to  understand.  She 
leaned  toward  him  and  spoke  distinctly. 

"They  arrested  him  for  setting  the  factory  on  fire." 

There  was  no  change  in  his  face  at  that.  She  had 
not  got  it  through  to  him.  He  stared  up  at  the  ceiling, 
inert. 

"We  must  get  Patsy  off,  Dick.  It  may  mean  state's 
prison  to  him,  if  they  prove  it  on  him.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do,  because  I'm  afraid  he  did  it.  You're  the 
only  one  who  knows  the  truth.  Dick,  you  must  help 
us." 

Her  re-iterated  beating  upon  the  doors  of  his  mind 
was  beginning  to  have  an  effect.  He  looked  at  her 
again.  She  went  all  over  it  once  more.  Little  by 
little  she  caught  his  attention.  She  forced  him  to 
think,  to  answer.  Her  urgency,  her  passionate  direct- 
ness had  their  way  with  him.  He  fought  her  off,  tried 
to  slip  away  into  the  blessed  nothingness  that  had 
wrapped  him  before,  but  she  would  not  let  him  go. 
She  laid  firm  hands  upon  him — she  caught  at  his  mind 
and  held  it — in  the  end  he  was  awake,  he  listened. 

She  told  him  again  of  her  fears,  Mrs.  Rafferty's 
faith,  of  Gregory's  determination  to  find  and  punish 
the  offender.  She  recalled  to  him  Patsy's  reputation  as 
daredevil  of  the  district.  She  stated  Ben  Card's 


244  THE  THRESHOLD 

grudge  against  him.  She  told  how  she  herself  had  sent 
him  out  to  look  for  Dick,  the  night  of  the  fire,  and  how 
they  had  caught  him,  near  the  factory,  apparently  red- 
handed. 

She  saw  that  he  was  taking  it  in,  now.  She  hurried 
on  to  the  climax.  Tomorrow  he  was  to  come  to  trial. 
He  had  gotten  a  message  to  Dick,  somehow — 

"Read  it,"  he  said. 

She  choked  back  a  sob  of  excitement  and  relief — and 
read — 

"Dear  Dick — It's  all  right — Keep  mum  about  any- 
thing ye  know.  Yours,  Patsy." 

He  considered  it  a  moment. 

"He  means  to  stand  for  it!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Evidently." 

He  sat  up  weakly. 

"Dick,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  must  get  to  him.!"  he  said,  excitedly. 

"No,  no — please — lie  down,  and  tell  me  what  to 
do,  I'll  obey  orders  exactly." 

He  sank  back,  flushed  and  distressed. 

"I  mustn't  fail  Patsy,"  he  said,  wildly. 

"Dick,  we  can  get  the  trial  put  off — if  you  want  to  be 
called  as  a  witness." 

"Yes — yes — that's  it,"  he  said,  "witness — "  then  he 
fainted. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

'HEN  Gregory  came  to  the  shanty  that  after- 
noon, Joan  came  to  the  door  to  speak  to 
him.  She  looked  utterly  spent,  a  ghost  of 
herself. 

"What  is  it?     Is  he  worse?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"No— he's  better." 

"But  you— ?" 

"I  took  a  terrible  responsibility  upon  myself  this 
afternoon,  Gregory.  I  told  Dick  about  Patsy  coming 
to  trial  tomorrow.  I  pried  into  his  mind,  and  made 
him  think — " 

"But  you  should  not  have  done  that!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  had  to  do  it,"  she  began. 

"What  happened  to  him?"  he  interrupted. 

"He  made  the  effort,  got  my  meaning,  and  then  he 
fainted." 

"How  cruel  of  you !" 

"I  can't  argue  it  with  you,  now.  I'm  too  tired.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it  some  time.  The  doctor  says  he 
is  very  weak  and  tired,  but  there  is  no  harm  done. 
He  even  admits  that  good  may  come  of  it." 

"Is  the  nurse  on  duty  now?" 

"Yes." 

"Get  a  coat  and  come  for  a  drive — I  have  the  runa- 
bout." 

She  obeyed  mechanically  and  he  tucked  the  rug  about 
her  carefully.  A  few  moments  later  they  were  out  of 
the  town  on  an  open  road.  Joan  sat,  leaning  back, 

245 


246  THE  THRESHOLD 

numb  from  the  events  of  the  afternoon.  Gregory  did 
not  speak,  and  they  rode  for  miles  in  silence.  Some- 
times he  glanced  at  her.  How  her  youth  and  buoyancy 
had  been  crushed  out!  Why  couldn't  life  have  left 
them  alone  ?  They  had  been  so  merry  at  the  Hall  be- 
fore the  events  of  these  past  months  had  swept  them  all 
into  strange  new  currents! 

"Gregory,  there  is  something  that  we  must  do." 

"Yes?" 

"We  must  get  Patsy  Rafferty's  trial  postponed  until 
Dick  is  able  to  act  as  a  witness." 

"Dick?" 

"Yes — he  knows  something  about  the  fire  that  is  of 
importance  to  the  case." 

"Was  that  what  you  made  him  think  about?" 

"Yes." 

"Couldn't  you  have  waited  until  the  boy  was  able 
to  tax  his  mind  with  the  affairs  of  this  rabble?  Can't 
we  ever  get  away  from  Farwell?"  he  cried. 

"No,  we  can't  get  away,  and  I  had  to  tell  him  that 
Patsy  needed  him.  They  love  each  other,  those  two, 
and  I  knew  Dick  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  let  him  lie 
there,  unconscious,  while  they  sent  Patsy  off  for  years, 
maybe." 

"Joan,  do  you  believe  Rafferty  to  be  guilty?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Do  you  suspect  any  one  else?" 

"No." 

"The  evidence  all  points  to  Rafferty,  doesn't  it?" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  made  no 
answer. 

"Joan — don't !  I  won't  speak  a  word  of  the  hateful 
thing  again.  I  brought  you  out  to  get  you  away  from 
it,  and  then  I  put  you  through  the  third  degree  myself." 


THE  THRESHOLD  247 

"It's  all  right,  only  I'm  so  tired,  I'm  not  myself. 
Will  you  help  me  get  the  trial  postponed,  Gregory?" 

"I'll  attend  to  it — put  it  out  of  your  mind.  It  will 
be  months,  though,  before  Dick  can  testify." 

"No — he  will  be  able  in  a  week,  I  think." 

"Ridiculous!  Why,  he  faints  when  he  makes  the 
least  effort — " 

"It  wasn't  the  least  effort — it  was  a  terrible  effort, 
Gregory.  Get  it  put  off  for  a  week.  Dick  will  be 
ready." 

"I'll  ask  the  doctor,  first." 

"If  you  like.     Shall  we  go  back  and  attend  to  it?" 

"All  right.     Relax  now,  and  don't  talk." 

"Thanks,"  she  sighed,  closing  her  eyes. 

When  they  came  into  the  town  he  said — 

"This  is  a  trifle  unusual,  you  know.  Your  side 
ought  to  ask  for  this  stay  of  trial,  not  my  side." 

"I  thought  you  could  fix  it.  It's  Dick  I  was  think- 
ing of,  even  more  than  Patsy." 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  Patsy  at  all.  I  think  he  burned 
down  the  factory  and  that  Dick  wants  to  try  to  get  him 
off.  If  it  is  going  to  affect  Dick's  health,  why,  it's  got 
to  be  put  off,  that's  all.  I'll  see  Rafferty's  lawyer  and 
we'll  petition  the  Court." 

"Thanks — I'll  tell  Dick.  Better  let  me  know  it's 
all  right  before  you  go  home." 

She  got  out  of  the  car  at  her  own  house  and  waved 
him  good-bye.  Then  she  went  up  to  her  room  and 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  from  sheer  nerves. 

From  the  moment  Dick  understood  that  he  had  one 
week  in  which  to  get  well  enough  to  go  to  Patsy's  aid, 
he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  being  better.  He  was  the 
most  docile  and  obedient  patient.  He  ate  what  they 
brought  him,  took  the  medicine  they  offered  him.  He 


248  THE  THRESHOLD 

was  very  quiet.  He  lay  for  long  periods  of  time,  with- 
out speaking  at  all.  Sometimes  Joan's  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  mark  these  long  days  had  made  upon  him. 
The  old  boy  Dick  was  gone,  and  this  serious  big-eyed 
man  was  a  stranger. 

He  liked  to  have  her  with  him,  and  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed her  everywhere,  when  she  was  in  the  room.  She 
sat  beside  him,  his  hand  in  hers;  but  he  seemed  not  to 
want  to  talk.  He  sent  Patsy  a  message  in  answer — 

"Everything  all  right.  Don't  worry.  I'll  be  there. 
Dick."  After  that  he  did  not  speak  of  him,  or  of  the 
coming  ordeal.  He  seemed  to  be  concentrated  on  get- 
ting better. 

Mrs.  Rafferty  could  make  him  smile,  with  her  joking, 
and  he  asked  to  see  Jimmy,  who  was  about  again.  But 
of  Gregory  he  said  no  word. 

"Joan,  do  I  seem  better  today?"  he  asked  each  morn- 
ing. 

"Yes,  dear,  you  do,"  she  always  answered. 

The  week  was  over  at  last,  and  the  day  of  the  trial 
at  hand.  Dick  had  walked  a  few  steps  about  the  house 
the  day  before,  and  he  assured  everybody  that  he  was 
all  right.  Joan  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  took  him  in  the 
town  hack  to  the  court-house,  because  neither  Dick  nor 
Mrs.  Rafferty  would  accept  a  seat  in  the  car  Gregory 
offered  them. 

The  entire  district  as  well  as  most  of  the  village  was 
on  its  way  to  the  trial.  There  had  never  been  such  an 
excitement  in  the  town  in  the  memory  of  the  village 
Methusaleh.  They  all  called  out  greetings  to  Dick,  as 
he  passed.  He  waved  back  to  them. 

"It's  queer  that  a  year  ago  I  didn't  know  a  soul  in 
this  town  except  a  few  store-keepers — " 


THE  THRESHOLD  249 

"And  now  everybody  round  the  place  loves  ye,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Rafferty. 

Dick  patted  her  hand. 

"Blarney!"  said  he. 

The  court-room  was  crowded  to  the  door  when  they 
arrived.  It  was  difficult  for  them  to  get  to  the  seats 
reserved  for  the  witnesses.  Saunders,  Mayor  Ben 
Card  and  some  of  the  militiamen  who  helped  to  arrest 
Patsy  were  already  seated. 

They  were  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution.  Dick 
seemed  to  be  the  only  one  for  the  defence.  Grady 
came  to  rejoin  them  presently,  however. 

"Say — this  is  some  show!"  the  saloon  keeper  re- 
marked, as  he  looked  about  at  his  fellow  citizens. 

Joan  saw  Gregory  come  in  quietly  at  back.  He 
gave  a  long  anxious  look  at  Dick,  who  did  not  see  him. 
Then  he  stood  against  the  wall,  as  there  were  no  more 
seats.  Joan  could  tell  from  the  expression  of  his  face 
that  he  disliked  being  there.  She  saw,  too,  how  the 
people  stared  at  him. 

The  Court  appeared.  Then  Patsy  was  brought  in. 
He  looked  pale  from  his  confinement,  but  he  nodded 
and  smiled  at  his  mother  and  Dick  and  Joan,  in  his 
usual  offhand  way.  He  grinned  at  his  friends,  and 
evidently  made  some  joke  about  the  crowd  to  his 
guard,  for  that  worthy  laughed  and  nodded. 

The  case  was  called  and  the  first  witness  for  the 
prosecution  called.  Saunders  took  the  witness  seat. 
He  testified  to  Patsy's  general  unreliability.  He  said 
he  was  a  trouble  maker,  that  he  was  always  being  fired, 
always  up  to  some  deviltry.  He  had  been  the  ring- 
leader in  getting  the  employes  organized,  in  spite  of  the 
company's  well  known  opposition  to  unions. 


250  THE  THRESHOLD 

On  cross-examination,  he  admitted  that  he  was  an 
expert  workman,  which  accounted  for  the  fact  that  he 
was  always  taken  on  again. 

He  was  asked  if  he  had  any  reason  for  thinking  that 
Patsy  would  burn  down  the  factory.  He  said  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  it.  He  told  of  Patsy's  effort 
to  break  up  the  factory  machinery  the  night  the  strike 
breakers  were  brought  in.  How  he  and  another  man 
were  busily  demolishing  Mr.  Farwell's  property,  when 
he,  Saunders,  who  had  heard  the  noise  from  his  office, 
had  crept  up,  upon  them.  When  he  tried  to  capture 
them,  they  fell  upon  him,  and  a  third  man  had  come  to 
the  rescue  and  struck  him  the  blow  that  had  knocked 
him  out. 

He  was  asked  by  Patsy's  lawyer  who  the  man  was 
who  worked  with  Patsy  in  destroying  the  machinery. 
Saunders  could  not  tell — the  light  was  bad,  he  was  not 
sure.  He  was  only  certain  that  Patsy  was  the  leader. 
He  had  not  seen  the  assailant  who  knocked  him  out,  but 
he  believed  him  to  be  a  very  powerful  man. 

Patsy  laughed  aloud  at  that,  Dick  and  Joan  smiled, 
and  the  Judge  rapped  for  order. 

Saunders  was  dismissed  and  Ben  Card  called  to  his 
place.  Card,  being  sworn  in,  proceeded  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  any  character  which  Patsy  might  be  supposed  to 
possess.  He  recited  the  story  of  how  Patsy  had  led 
the  factory  workers  to  the  Council  meetings  and  tried 
to  bribe  him,  the  Mayor,  with  a  promise  of  a  solid  vote, 
if  he  would  get  a  public  school  established  for  the 
factory  children  in  or  near  the  district.  Patsy  had 
threatened  him  with  political  defeat,  if  he  dared  oppose 
him,  and  had  actually  tried  to  force  the  election  of  the 
opposition  candidate,  on  the  basis  of  his  approval  of 
the  district  school.  He  believed  Patsy  to  be  a  dan- 


THE  THRESHOLD  251 

gerous  character,  without  principle  or  morals.  What 
sort  of  a  man  was  it,  who  could  change  his  politics 
overnight,  on  the  basis  of  a  school  for  factory  chil- 
dren? Fortunately,  right  and  justice  had  triumphed 
and  he  had  been  re-elected. 

The  attorney  for  the  defence  inquired  if  the  Mayor 
had  made  any  promises  of  such  a  school  to  the  factory 
men  ?  He  admitted  that  he  had.  Had  he  visited  Mr. 
Rafferty  at  his  house,  just  before  Mr.  Rafferty  had  of- 
fered the  factory  men's  vote  to  the  opposition  candi- 
date ?  The  Mayor  could  not  remember  any  such  visit, 
The  attorney  asked  permission  to  call  a  witness.  It 
was  granted.  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  summoned  and 
sworn  in. 

"Did  the  Mayor  make  a  visit  in  person  to  your  son, 
at  your  house,  on  a  day  shortly  previous  to  the  elec- 
tion?" the  lawyer  asked  her. 

"He  did,  the  durty,  lyhV  rogue!"  said  she,  and  the 
Judge's  gavel  quelled  the  outburst  of  laughter. 

The  attorney  for  the  defence  went  on  to  bring  out 
that  Card  had  offered  Patsy  a  bribe  to  come  back  into 
the  fold  and  bring  "the  boys" — that  failing  in  that,  he 
had  bought  up  as  many  votes  as  he  could  in  the  dis- 
trict. Witnesses  were  brought  forward  who  testified 
to  selling  their  votes,  and  told  the  price.  In  spite  of 
promises  and  bribes,  in  spite  of  this  notable  triumph  of 
virtue,  no  mention  had  ever  been  made  since  of  the 
public  school,  guaranteed  the  factory  men,  by  their 
trustworthy  Mayor.  He  took  up  some  of  the  facts  in 
that  gentleman's  career  and  before  he  was  reprimanded 
as  being  beside  the  case,  he  managed  to  instil  the  idea 
that  Ben  Card's  testimony  in  regard  to  morals  or  char- 
acter was  nil.  since  he  did  not  know  the  definitions  of 
the  words- 


252  THE  THRESHOLD 

Next  two  militiamen  were  called,  who  had  made  the 
arrest.  They  described  how  they  came  upon  Patsy 
stealing  along,  close  beside  the  factory  wall.  He 
seemed  to  be  calling  somebody — probably  his  accom- 
plice. When  they  saw  him,  he  ran  toward  a  broken 
window,  in  the  basement,  but  they  caught  him. 
He  made  no  struggle,  nor  objection,  when  they  got 
him. 

Cross-examined,  they  both  admitted  that  he  had 
nothing  in  his  hands,  or  ±1  his  possession  which  could 
make,  kindle,  or  cause  a  fire.  He  had  not  even 
matches.  A  subsequent  search  of  the  place  where  he 
was  caught  had  not  discovered  any  torch  or  rag,  hastily 
thrown  away.  But  the  place  was  not  searched  until 
the  next  morning,  and  the  fire  had  swept  over  it  by 
that  time. 

During  the  entire  recital  of  these  stories,  Patsy 
had  sat,  leaning  forward  slightly,  in  the  deepest  in- 
terest. Sometimes  he  smiled  and  glanced  at  Dick, 
or  his  mother.  He  certainly  showed  no  signs  of  ex- 
citement. H$  did  not  act  like  a  man  facing  a  possible 
prison  sentence. 

When  the  court  adjourned  at  noon,  Dick's  face  was 
grey  with  fatigue.  But  he  waved  a  friendly  hand  at 
Patsy  as  they  led  him  away. 

Joan  induced  Dick  to  lie  down  the  minute  he  finished 
his  lunch.  She  promised  to  sit  beside  him,  if  he  would 
try  to  sleep. 

"Dear,  do  you  think  you  can  go  through  with  this?" 
she  asked  him,  anxious  over  the  black  circles  which 
shadowed  his  eyes. 

"Yes.  They  are  determined  to  prove  it  on  him, 
aren't  they?" 

"Put  it  out  of  your  mind  and  rest." 


THE  THRESHOLD  253 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  eyes  to  close  them,  and  he 
clasped  his  two  over  it. 

"Dear,  it's  worth  being  sick,  to  have  you  so  good 
to  me,"  he  whispered. 

"Foolish  one,  haven't  I  always  been  good  to  you?" 

"Yes — but  not  so  sweet.     I  love  it,"  he  said  softly. 

Joan  flushed  slightly  and  said  in  her  most  matter- 
of-fact  tone, 

"We're  all  spoiling  you,  little  brother." 

He  frowned  at  that,  and  they  did  not  speak  again 
until  it  was  time  to  go  back  to  the  court-room. 

The  crowd  seemed  even  greater  than  before.  The 
air  was  heavy  and  rather  sickening.  Joan  saw  Greg- 
ory's pale  face  across  the  room  again.  He  smiled  at 
her.  The  case  for  the  defence  began.  Grady  was 
called  first.  He  kept  the  audience  laughing  by  his 
witty  answers  to  the  prosecuting  attorney.  He  re- 
ported Patsy  as  an  honourable,  honest,  much  beloved 
citizen.  He  was  a  good  worker,  a  good  son  and 
brother,  a  loyal  friend.  He  had  the  interests  of  the 
workers  at  heart.  He  paid  his  billsffts  promptly  as 
necessary,  and  only  got  drunk  occasionally.  The  way 
he  concerned  himself  about  the  school  for  the  children 
was  an  illustration  of  his  good  heart.  He  had  no  chil- 
dren of  his  own,  so  far  as  anybody  knew,  but  he  be- 
lieved the  kids  had  a  right  to  an  education,  and  he  was 
willing  to  fight  Ben  Card  and  the  whole  damned  Coun- 
cil to  get  it. 

He  was  reprimanded  for  his  language  by  the  Judge 
— and  he  replied — 

"Hell — yer  honour — did  I  swear?" 

He  was  allowed  to  proceed  and  he  asked  what  rea- 
son Patsy  could  have  for  burning  the  factory  down? 
If  he  had  the  interests  of  the  workers  at  heart,  would 


254  THE  THRESHOLD 

he  take  away  all  their  jobs?  He  had  already  got  the 
hands  organized,  and  they  were  just  in  a  position  to 
demand  better  conditions  and  wages.  Why  would  he 
burn  the  factory  and  take  away  all  wages? 

He  was  followed  by  several  witnesses  who  made 
tribute  to  Patsy's  character  and  worth.  The  prosecut- 
ing attorney  grilled  them  all. 

It  got  hotter  and  hotter  in  the  room,  and  it  was  get- 
ting late,  when  Dick  was  called  upon.  Joan  looked  at 
him  anxiously — he  was  very  white,  and  she  saw  the 
nervous  way  he  wet  his  dry  lips  as  he  took  his  place 
in  the  witness  box.  That  he  was  the  star  attraction 
was  evident  from  the  way  the  crowd  fell  quiet  and 
strained  forward  to  see  and  hear.  Gregory  closed  his 
eyes,  not  to  see  the  boy's  face. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  began  asking  questions 
about  Dick's  acquaintance  with  Patsy.  He  answered 
briefly,  described  the  trip  they  took  together.  Patsy 
had  proved  reliable,  efficient,  extraordinarily  clever  at 
getting  at  facts  about  the  factories  they  visited. 

"Why  did  you  choose  Rafferty  to  go  with  you  on  this 
trip?"  ' 

"Because  I  wanted  him  and  thought  he  was  smart." 

"This  was  a  business  trip,  from  your  point  of  view?" 

"Yes.  I  wanted  to  study  model  factories.  I  didn't 
know  anything  about  them  and  he'd  been  brought  up 
in  a  factory." 

"Was  it  to  learn  more  about  factories  that  you  took 
a  job  in  your  uncle's?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  aroused  your  interest  in  factories?" 

"A — a  teacher  of  mine." 

"Did  this  teacher  suggest  your  actually  working  in 
one?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  255 

"No — that  was  my  idea." 

"Did  you  uncle  offer  no  objection?" 

"No — he  laughed  at  the  idea." 

"Did  he  make  any  requests  of  you,  in  regard  to  your 
conduct  in  the  factory?" 

"Yes,  he  made  me  promise  not  to  stir  up  trouble." 

"You  knew  his  objection  to  unions?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  aided  Rafferty  in  getting  them  estab- 
lished?" 

"Yes." 

"You  deliberately  broke  your  promise?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  saw  it  was  the  only  way  for  the  workers 
to  get  justice." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  applause,  instantly  hushed  by 
a  blow  of  the  gavel. 

"You  thought  the  workers'  rights  were  more  im- 
portant than  the  wishes  of  your  guardian?" 

"Yes." 

"The  strike  was  called  because  Mr.  Farwell  had  you 
dismissed,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes.     I  warned  him  it  would  be  called." 

"You  mean  you  threatened  him  with  that  fact." 

"If  you  like." 

"You  weren't  thinking  much  of  his  rights,  were  you  ?" 

"No." 

"You  went  to  live  with  the  Raffertys?" 

"I  did." 

"You  associated  constantly  with  the  prisoner?" 

"He  is  my  best  friend." 

"You  helped  resist  the  strike-breakers  when  they 
were  brought  in  by  the  Company?" 


256  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  did." 

"Did  you  know  that  your  best  friend,  as  you  call 
him,  was  trying  to  disable  machines  so  that  the  strike- 
breakers could  not  work?"  sneered  the  attorney. 

"Yes — I  helped  him.     It  was  my  idea." 

An  exclamation  ran  around  the  room  at  that. 

"You  helped  destroy  your  own  uncle's  property?" 

"My  uncle  acts  as  guardian  of  the  property,  which 
was  left  to  me  by  my  grandfather.  I  shall  inherit  it 
in  four  years.  I  consider  it  my  property." 

A  buzz  and  hum  of  talk  began,  interrupted  by  a 
sharp  reprimand  from  the  Court. 

"Where  were  you  the  night  the  militia  were  brought 
in?" 

"With  the  strikers." 

"Were  you  at  the  station  when  they  came?" 

"Yes." 

He  closed  his  eyes  a  second,  to  shut  that  memory  out. 

"Tell  us  what  happened  there." 

A  haunted  look  came  to  the  boy's  white  face,  and 
he  spoke  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  at  first. 

"We  were  all  in  the  lot,  pestering  the  scabs,  when 
a  boy  told  us  that  my — that  Mr.  Farwell  had  ordered 
the  Mayor  to  call  the  militia,  to  protect  his  property. 
So  we  all  began  to  run  to  the  station  to  meet  the  train. 
Everybody  was  there,  the  platform  was  full  of  men 
and  women  strikers,  and  all  the  other  women  of  the 
district  and  the  children.  We  weren't  armed — it  was 
an  orderly  crowd — we  were  just  waiting." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  and  the  stillness  in  the  room 
was  intense. 

"Just  before  the  train  came  in,  Card  rushed  up  with 
some  special  policemen,  all  armed.  He  threatened  us, 
if  we  made  any  trouble — he  said  he'd  shoot.  Then  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  257 

train  came  in  and  the  militia  got  off.  I  was  pushed 
up  against  the  wall,  and  I  stood  on  a  bench  up  above  the 
crowd. 

"The  militia  formed  and  started  to  charge  through. 
In  the  crowding  that  followed,  somebody  pushed  one 
of  Card's  policemen.  He  whirled  and  aimed  at  Patsy 
who  was  standing  right  near  him.  Mrs.  Rafferty  saw 
it,  she  was  behind  him — and  she  hit  his  arm  up.  The 
revolver  flew  into  the  crowd,  and  the  militia  didn't 
wait  a  second.  They  began  to  shoot  into  the  crowd. 
They  shot  the  women  and  children — I  saw  Jimmy  Raf- 
ferty shot  down. 

"They  all  screamed  and  pushed  and  there  was  blood 
— I  saw  it  all — I  knew  my  uncle  had  ordered  that 
done—" 

An  exclamation — a  gasp  caught  the  audience.  It 
seemed  to  Joan  she  was  going  to  faint.  She  dared  not 
look  at  Gregory — nor  could  she  take  her  eyes  from 
Dick.  His  face  was  flushed  now,  his  eyes  blazing. 
His  voice  was  shaking  and  he  fought  for  control. 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do — I  just  knew  I  had  to  do 
something.  It  couldn't  be  like  that  in  the  world — kill- 
ing people  to  protect  property.  It  was  my  property 
and  I  hated  it — these  people  they  were  trying  to  kill 
were  my  friends.  I  felt  that  my  uncle  had  shot  little 
Jim  Rafferty — I  felt  I  owed  these  people  something.  I 
had  to  show  them  that  I  didn't  believe  in  this  system." 
He  was  almost  sobbing  now,  and  the  women  in  the 
court-room  were  crying. 

"Keep  to  the  point.  What  did  you  do,  after  the 
shooting?" 

"I  ran  after  the  militia,  trying  to  think  what  to  do. 
Then  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  bonfire  the  scabs  had 
built  to  keep  them  warm.  Then  I  knew."  He  paused 


25 8  THE  THRESHOLD 

and  then  rushed  on.  "I  went  to  Mrs.  Rafferty's  lean-to 
and  got  the  kerosene  can.  I  took  a  sheet  off  the  line 
and  tore  it  up  and  soaked  it.  I  crawled  around  the 
factory  yard  and  planted  the  rags  and  lit  them,  then  I 
ran  around  and  joined  the  strikers  and  watched  it 
burn. 

"I  was  glad  it  was  burning — it  was  my  property  and 
I  wanted  to  lose  it.  I  can't  let  people  work  for  me 
and  live  in  dirty  holes  not  fit  for  swine — I  can't  let 
people  work  for  me  in  a  factory  that  is  a  disgrace — 
I  can't  wait  four  years  to  get  a  chance  to  change  all 
this — nobody  would  listen  to  me — Uncle  Gregory 
didn't  care — I  had  to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  it,  and  be- 
gin again! 

"I've  listened  to  you,  trying  to  put  the  blame  on 
Patsy — if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  you  would  have  framed 
it  up  on  him  and  sent  him  up  for  the  best  years  of  his 
life — wouldn't  you?  He  was  willing  to  let  you  do  it, 
to  keep  me  out  of  it.  I  know  now  what  kind  of  justice 
your  rotten  old  courts  deal  in,  and  I'm  willing  to  stand 
for  whatever  you  can  do  to  me — but,  by  God!  I 
want  you  to  know  that  I  don't  stand  for  any  of  your 
talk.  Rights — morals — justice!  There  are  no  such 
things  in  the  world!  It's  a  hideous  place — devils 
would  be  ashamed  of  such  a  hell!  I  burned  up  the 
factory,  and  I'm  glad!" 

His  voice  ended  in  a  scream,  and  then  he  sank  down, 
his  head  in  his  hands  and  sobbing  hysterically. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THERE  was  a  hush  of  silence  in  the  court-room, 
after  Dick's  recital,  broken  only  by  the  boy's 
sobbing,    and   that   of   his    audience.     The 
Judge  had  permitted  his  story  to  be  told  in  his  own  boy 
way,  because  he  saw  how  ill  Dick  was,  and  how  cross- 
examination  fretted  him.     He  had  known  the  lad  all 
his  life,  and  he  could  not  be  blamed,  if  judicial  prece- 
dent gave  way  just  a  trifle,  to  human  concern  for  his 
overwrought  young  friend.     He  rapped  for  quiet,  and 
addressed  the  jury. 

"Gentlemen — the  case  of  Farwell  vs.  Rafferty  is 
dismissed.  Having  discovered  the  true  offender 
through  the  confession  you  have  just  heard,  we  must 
now  proceed  to  the  indictment  and  prosecution  of 
Richard  Norton.  The  court  will  adjourn  until  ten 
o'clock  tomorrow  morning." 

Before  any  one  stirred,  almost  before  the  Judge  had 
left  the  room,  Gregory  walked  to  the  corner  where  his 
lawyer  stood,  and  after  a  few  words  went  out.  A  sud- 
den hiss  ran  around  the  room.  It  was  the  only  way 
the  factory  workers  knew  of  expressing  their  hatred 
of  the  man.  Gregory  carried  that  sound  away  with 
him,  punctuated  by  Dick's  sobbing  efforts  to  get  control 
of  himself.  It  seemed  to  Gregory  that  if  he  had  been 
the  devil  Dick  had  painted  him,  if  he  had  lived  his 
whole  life  trying  to  do  people  harm,  instead  of  just 
trying  to  keep  away  from  them,  no  greater  punishment 
could  have  been  meted  out  to  him. 

259 


26o  THE  THRESHOLD 

Patsy,  Mrs.  Rafferty  and  Joan  surrounded  Dick  and 
tried  to  get  him  quieted.  The  crowd  surged  up  to  offer 
congratulations  to  the  Irish  boy.  He  was  well  liked  in 
the  town.  An  officer  of  the  court  stepped  up  to  Dick 
and  informed  him  he  was  under  arrest. 

"Oh,  but  he's  too  ill  to  go  to  that  jail,  tonight," 
Joan  said. 

"I'm  all  right,"  Dick  managed  to  say. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  joined  them,  and  asked 
Dick  and  the  officer  to  come  into  the  Judge's  private 
office.  Joan  watched  them  go,  trying  to  keep  control 
of  her  own  nerves.  She  could  not  help  Dick  if  she 
gave  way  to  them. 

"It's  all  right — don't  worry,"  Patsy  said  to  her, 
"he'll  get  bail  all  right." 

The  crowd  in  the  room  drifted  off  to  form  excited 
groups  on  the  sidewalk  and  talk  over  the  most  thrill- 
ing event  the  town  had  ever  staged. 

Presently  Dick  and  the  officer  came  out  again. 

"It's  all  right,  Miss.  The  Judge  accepted  bail. 
Take  him  home  and  get  him  to  bed." 

"Dick!"  Joan  exclaimed  in  relief. 

"All  right,  honey — been  pretty  hard  on  you,"  he  re- 
plied. Apparently  he  was  too  worn  out  to  ask  who 
furnished  the  bail,  or  to  question  it. 

Patsy  refused  to  ride  in  the  hack.  He  walked  along 
beside  it,  making  jocular  remarks  about  the  age  of  the 
horse  and  his  inevitable  end  in  the  glue  factory.  Dick 
smiled  faintly,  holding  on  to  Joan's  hand  like  a  tired 
little  boy  to  his  mother.  Once  in  the  district  all  the 
children  in  the  world  seemed  to  appear,  to  hail  them 
with  shouts  and  to  surround  them  until  the  shanty  was 
reached.  Dick  refused  to  be  put  to  bed.  He  was  all 
right,  just  a  little  tired. 


THE  THRESHOLD  261 

"I'm  the  boss  'round  here  yet,  Dick.  Ye'll  take 
orders,  as  usual  from  me  1"  remarked  Mrs.  Rafferty,  as 
she  laid  aside  her  best  bonnet.  He  smiled  at  her 
affectionately. 

"Ye'll  lie  down  until  we  git  the  supper  on  the  table, 
then  we'll  call  ye.  It  won't  be  long,  and  ye  can  git 
forty  winks  mebbe.  Forward  march !" 

He  went  protesting — but  once  on  the  bed  he  fell  into 
the  deep  sleep  of  exhaustion.  When  Joan  went  to  call 
him  she  hesitated  to  waken  him.  She  summoned  the 
others,  and  after  some  counsel  they  decided  to  let  him 
sleep.  They  would  keep  his  supper  hot  for  him,  and 
pretend  to  eat  with  him  when  he  woke.  They  tiptoed 
back  to  the  kitchen,  not  to  disturb  him,  finished  their 
meal,  washed  the  dishes  and  put  away  the  things.  Still 
Dick  slept  on.  They  were  all  very  tired  from  the 
strain  of  the  day,  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  began  dropping 
asleep  in  her  chair.  They  persuaded  her  to  go  off 
to  bed  finally.  Joan  and  Patsy  would  wait  for  Dick 
to  waken.  They  talked  on  until  ten  o'clock.  Then 
they  stole  in  to  look  at  the  sleeper.  He  seemed  not 
to  have  moved.  He  just  breathed  deeply  and  natu- 
rally. 

"Do  you  suppose  you  could  get  his  clothes  off,  and 
get  him  into  bed  without  waking  him,  Patsy?"  she 
whispered. 

"It  looks  loike  it — I'll  try,"  he  answered. 

She  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  after  a  while  he 
joined  her. 

"Slapin'  loike  a  baby.  He  niver  opened  an  oye. 
Go  along  to  bed,  Miss — ye  look  half  dead." 

"I'll  stay  up  a  half  an  hour  longer,  I  think.  I  can 
sleep  on  the  sofa,  if  you'll  take  the  nurse's  bed  in  Dick's 
room,  Patsy." 


262  THE  THRESHOLD 

''All  roight.  I'll  step  over  to  Grady's  fer  a  minute, 
if  ye  don't  moind.  Then  we'll  all  turn  in." 

She  nodded  and  he  went  off.  She  looked  in  on  Dick, 
then  she  took  up  a  book  and  tried  to  get  her  mind 
quieted.  But  it  was  no  use — she  was  always  back  in 
the  court-room,  hearing  Dick's  bitter  arraignment,  see- 
ing Gregory's  racked  face,  hearing  the  hiss  that  fol- 
lowed him.  Had  she  brought  all  this  havoc  into  their 
lives  for  nothing?  Were  Dick  and  Gregory  estranged 
through  her,  the  factory  burned  down,  the  district  out 
of  work,  because  in  her  arrogance  and  youth  she  had 
thought  she  knew  the  correct  formula  to  make  every- 
thing come  out  right?  What  had  she  given  them  all 
in  exchange  ?  Her  half-baked  theories,  her  cocky  col- 
lege aphorisms;  even  the  bitter  and  enlightening  ex- 
perience of  Whiting,  and  her  youth  there,  seemed  to 
rise  up  and  mock  her  in  this,  her  darkest  hour.  De- 
struction— heart-ache — those  were  the  words  that  said 
themselves  over  and  over.  Was  there  any  more  harm 
she  could  be  responsible  for? 

There  in  the  empty  kitchen  she  pledged  herself  to 
give  every  power  she  had,  every  quality  of  heart  and 
mind,  to  try  to  build  up,  to  repair,  to  heal.  If  only 
it  was  not  too  late. 

Patsy's  step  roused  her.  He  came  in  quickly.  She 
saw  he  was  excited. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"There's  trouble  at  the  saloon." 

"What  kind  of  trouble?" 

"The  Union  distributed  the  last  benefit  today,  ye 
know.  The  byes  are  discouraged,  nearly  desperate. 
They  got  to  move  on — find  new  jobs — they've  all  been 
drinkin'  tonoight." 

"Yes,  well?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  263 

"They're  all  sore  on  King  Farwell,  ye  know.  He's 
the  fella  that's  done  it  to  'em.  They  wuz  at  the  trial 
an'  heard  what  Dick  said —  they  saw  him  walk  out,  not 
carin'  a  damn — " 

"Oh,  but  Patsy,  he  did  care!  What  are  they  going 
to  do?"  she  cried  breathlessly. 

"I  dunno.  Grady  was  talkin'  an'  gittin'  'em  all  ex-- 
cited. His  job  is  gone,  too,  ye  know.  I  tried  to  shut 
him  up —  but  they  won't  listen  to  me.'* 

"But  they  must  listen — they  don't  understand." 

"They  understand  all  roight,"  he  interrupted,  "only 
they  won't  get  nuthin'  by  tryin'  to  fix  Farwell,  except 
hangin'." 

"You  don't  think  they'd—?" 

"I  tell  ye  they  have  ben  drinkin'.  I  come  to  tell  ye 
that  I'd  go  'long  with  'em,  if  they  start  fer  the  Hall, 
an'  try  to  kape  'em  from  murder,  not  fer  his  sake,  but 
fer  their  sakes." 

"Oh,  Patsy,  hurry.  Don't  let  them  start — let  me  go 
over  there  and  explain  to  them — " 

"No  good.     They  don't  care  what  you  say,  now." 

"Patsy,  if  they  do  anything  to  Gregory — "  she  cried, 
and  stopped  short. 

"So  that's  the  way  it  is  with  you,  is  ut?"  he  chal- 
lenged her.  "Are  ye  on  our  soide,  or  are  ye  on  his?" 

"Can  you  ask  me  that?" 

"How  can  ye  know  him,  an*  what  he  does,  an*  what 
he  stands  fer,  an'  care  what  happens  to  him?  .Why, 
even  Dick  has  turned  on  him !" 

"No,  he  hasn't.  Dick  cares  for  him  too.  Why  he's 
been  a  father  to  Dick.  We  both  see  he's  been  wrong 
— he  sees  it  himself.  Give  him  a  chance,  Patsy — " 

"He  give  us  a  foine  chanct  when  he  called  the  militia, 
didn't  he,"  he  sneered. 


264  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Oh,  Patsy,  I  haven't  any  reasons  or  arguments  left. 
I  just  know  Gregory  is  really  a  good  man,  and  I  ask 
you  to  help  Dick  and  me  save  him,  because  we  love 
him." 

She  laid  her  two  hands  on  his  arm  in  entreaty. 
There  was  a  shout  out  in  the  street. 

"Patsy — run — stop  them!" 

He  rushed  out,  and  Joan  went  after  him,  half  way 
down  the  street.  Then  she  remembered  Dick  and 
turned  back.  He  lay  still,  in  deep  slumber.  Should 
she  wake  him?  She  had  called  him  back  from  a 
deeper  slumber  to  help  Patsy.  Should  she  let  him 
sleep  through  the  urgent  need  of  his  oldest  and  best 
friend  ? 

As  if  in  answer,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up 
at  her.  He  smiled  and  a  little  natural  colour  came 
to  his  face. 

"I  was  dreaming  about  you,"  he  said.  He  lifted 
the  hand  she  laid  on  his  head  and  put  it  against  his 
lips. 

"Are  you  hungry?"  she  asked,  marvelling  that  she 
could  get  the  mundane  words  out. 

"You  bet.     Have  you  had  dinner?" 

"Yes — it's  late — eleven  o'clock  nearly." 

"No?  You  said  you'd  call  me.  Why — who  put 
me  to  bed?" 

"Patsy.     I'll  get  your  supper." 

She  went  out  quickly,  and  stirred  the  fire,  putting  the 
things  on  to  heat.  Presently  Dick  came  out.  He  was 
partially  dressed,  with  a  long  heavy  bathrobe  on.  He 
came  up  behind  her  and  put  his  arms  about  her,  lean- 
ing his  head  on  hers. 

"It's  a  shame  to  make  you  cook  for  me  at  this  hour 
of  the  night." 


THE  THRESHOLD  265 

She  freed  herself  and  went  on  about  setting  a  place 
for  him  at  the  table. 

"Haven't  you  been  to  bed  yet?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It's  a  perfect  shame — "  he  burst  out.  "Is  every- 
body else  in  bed?" 

"All  but  Patsy,"  faintly. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He— he—" 

Her  lips  quivered  so  she  could  not  go  on.  He  laid 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  turned  her  toward  him. 

"Why,  Joan—" 

"Oh,  Dick,  there's  trouble  at  the  Hall.  Patsy  has 
gone  to  try  to  keep  the  men  in  order.  They  want  to — 
to  harm  Gregory!" 

"Uncle  Greg?"  he  said  incredulously. 

"They  think  you've  turned  against  him,  and  I've 
turned  against  him,  and  they  hate  him  so,  anyway. 
Patsy  says  they've  been  drinking.  Oh,  Dick,  I  can't 
stay  here  and  think  about  what  they  may  do  to  him  I" 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"I  want  to  go  out  there —  I  want  to  make  them 
listen  to  me — I  want  to  tell  them  that  he  didn't  know 
anything  about  them — he  didn't  mean  to  hurt  them — 
or—" 

She  caught  her  breath  hysterically. 

Dick  looked  at  her  closely,  a  new  idea  dawning  in 
his  mind. 

"Joan,  you  mean  you — Uncle  Greg — ?" 

"I  have  to  go  to  him." 

"All  right — we'll  go.  There  isn't  anything  you  can't 
ask  of  me,  Joan,  not  even  this.  Give  me  that  soup. 
Who  can  we  get  to  take  us  out — I  never  could  walk 
it—" 


266  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Oh,  not  you,  Dick.     You  aren't  well  enough  to 

go-" 

"Could  you  get  Jake  to  hitch  up  something,  while  I 
swallow  this  hot  stuff  and  finish  dressing?" 

"Yes." 

She  put  her  hat  and  coat  on,  as  she  ran.  At  the 
corner  of  the  main  street,  a  motor  dashed  past  her,  with 
Card  and  four  of  the  men  who  had  acted  as  special 
police  during  the  strike.  They  were  headed  for  the 
road  to  the  Hall,  and  going  at  a  great  speed. 

"Thank  God!"  murmured  Joan  as  she  turned  into 
Jake's  gate  and  began  ringing  his  bell. 

Twenty  minutes  later  she  clattered  up  to  the  shanty 
door,  the  old  man  driving.  Dick  and  Mrs.  Rafferty, 
in  her  wrapper,  appeared  at  the  door.  The  boy 
jumped  in,  and  they  started. 

"Let  the  horse  run,  Jake.  I'll  get  you  a  new  one,  if 
we  kill  it." 

"Don't  ye  worry — this  is  a  good  hoss !"  bragged  the 
driver. 

It  was  cold  and  very  dark.  The  horse's  hoofs  beat 
on  the  road,  a  sort  of  rhythm,  which  Joan  interpreted, 
"Hurry  up !  Hurry  up !  Hurry  up !"  They  scarcely 
spoke.  Occasionally  Dick  leaned  over  to  see  that  the 
robe  was  well  wrapped  about  her,  and  when  she  lifted 
her  white  face  to  him  in  thanks,  he  patted  her  gently. 
It  was  a  terrible  ride  for  both  of  them.  There  were  no 
signs  of  the  strikers,  no  sounds  of  them. 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  entrance  drive  to  the 
Hall,  the  horse  began  to  heave  ominously. 

"Stop,  Jake,  and  let  us  out  here,"  Joan  said.  "We 
can  make  it  by  a  short  cut.  You  wait  here  for  us." 

She  was  over  the  wheel  and  into  the  shrubbery  in  a 
second,  Dick  following  as  fast  as  his  weak  knees  would 


THE  THRESHOLD  267 

let  him.  They  had  often  scrambled  over  this  hill  in 
the  days  when  they  had  lived  at  the  Hall.  Joan  ran 
as  if  she  had  owl's  eyes,  forgetting  Dick,  forgetting 
everything  except  Gregory's  need  of  them.  She  could 
hear  yelling  and  shouts.  She  plunged  on  and  finally 
the  great  house  came  in  sight — it  was  all  dark  save  for 
one  great  lantern  which  hung  over  the  carriage  drive, 
and  was  always  burning  during  the  night. 

A  great  yell  of  rage  went  up,  just  as  she  struggled 
to  the  terrace.  She  could  see  the  crowd  now.  There 
was  a  small  group  on  the  piazza — one  of  them  must  be 
Gregory.  She  called  to  him,  but  she  was  so  breathless 
that  her  voice  did  not  carry.  The  crowd  pushed  up 
closer  to  the  veranda — a  window  crashed — suddenly  the 
small  group  straightened  into  a  line,  right  arms  were 
raised,  the  light  of  the  lantern  flashed  on  steel.  Joan 
gave  a  despairing  cry,  as  she  reached  the  drive-way — 
they  would  not  hear  her — if  the  police  shot,  the  strikers 
would  kill  him!  Gregory  heard  her — saw  her — he 
stepped  in  front  of  Card's  men,  shouting, 

"Don't— don't  do  that!" 

Joan  got  to  the  veranda — faced  the  surly  crowd — 
struggled  one  choking  second  to  get  command  of  her- 
self. 

"Patsy—"  she  called. 

"Here,"  he  answered. 

"Dick  is  coming  up  the  hill — he  can't  run.  He  asks 
you  to  tell  the  men  to  wait  for  him.  He  has  something 
to  tell  them.  You  know  how  sick  he  is,  boys,  and  this 
trip  may  kill  him,  but  he  had  to  come — he  would  come. 
Couldn't  you  go  to  help  him — ?" 

She  was  fighting  for  time.  Where  was  Dick? 
Gregory  jumped  off  the  veranda  and  started  down  the 
hill  before  any  one  had  grasped  his  intention. 


268  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Come  on,  fellows,"  shouted  Card,  running  after 
him.  Joan  went  too. 

"Come  on,  boys,  help  Dick,"  she  urged. 

The  crowd  fell  in  behind  her.  Half  way  down  the 
slope  they  came  upon  Gregory,  carrying  Dick  in  his 
arms.  He  never  glanced  at  the  mob,  which  had  come 
to  do  him  harm.  His  concern  was  for  his  nephew. 
Patsy  stepped  up  to  him  quickly. 

"Here,  leave  me  help  ye  with  him — "  he  said,  laying 
hold  of  Dick's  feet.  They  shifted  the  burden  between 
them,  and  went  on  back  to  the  house,  with  the  sobered 
crowd  following. 

"Is  he  dead  ?"  asked  one  of  the  men  of  Farwell.  He 
shook  his  head,  without  any  answer. 

As  they  reached  the  veranda  he  stirred. 

"Let's  put  him  down  a  minute — "  Gregory  said. 

In  a  second  overcoats  and  sweaters  were  laid  on  the 
floor  and  they  put  him  down.  He  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  opened  his  eyes. 

"Hello,  Uncle  Greg,"  he  said  faintly,  "where's 
Joan?" 

At  that  the  men  lifted  a  shout  of  relief.  He  wasn't 
dead.  He  turned  to  the  crowd. 

"Hello,  boys, — I  came — to  tell  you — " 

"Stand  back  there — give  him  air,"  commanded  Greg- 
ory. They  obeyed  instinctively,  pushing  back  into  a 
wide  circle.  Joan  knelt  beside  Dick. 

"Don't  talk,  Dick,  it's  all  right." 

"I  couldn't  run — I  fell  down — "  he  explained  to  her. 
"Help  me  sit  up — I  want  to  speak  to  them." 

She  propped  him  up  against  herself  as  support. 

"Boys,  I  ask  you  to  go  home  now.  This  is  my  fight. 
I  started  it,  and  I  have  to  finish  it.  There's  going  to 
be  a  new  factory  in  Farwell — I  want  you  all  to  stay — " 


THE  THRESHOLD  269 

"He'll  finish  this  speech  some  other  time/'  Gregory 
interposed.  "Take  hold  of  his  feet,  Rafferty,  and  help 
me  get  him  to  bed." 

Rafferty  did  as  he  was  told,  and  without  another 
word  the  little  procession  filed  into  the  Hall, — Dick 
and  his  carriers,  Joan,  the  deputies  and  Card.  The 
latter  closed  the  door  carefully  and  stood  guard  by 
it.  Upstairs  to  Dick's  old  quarters  they  marched. 
Patsy  and  Gregory  began  to  get  off  Dick's  clothes 
while  Joan  turned  down  the  bed,  and  laid  out  pajamas 
from  his  old  dresser.  She  went  into  his  dressing 
room  and  waited.  She  heard  an  occasional  word  be- 
tween them;  she  heard  Dick  groan  as  he  sank  onto  the 
bed. 

"Stay  the  night,  Patsy?"  she  heard  him  say. 

She  went  downstairs,  told  Card  about  old  Jake  and 
asked  him  to  send  the  driver  back  to  town. 

"The  crowd  is  still  out  there,"  Card  reported,  point- 
ing to  the  lawn. 

"No  harm  in  it  now,"  she  replied. 

"Ye  just  got  here  in  time,  I  can  tell  ye,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Patsy  came  downstairs. 

"All  right?"  she  asked  him. 

"All  roight,"  he  answered. 

"Patsy,  how  can  I  thank  you?"  she  said,  her  hand 
out  to  him. 

"Ye  can  thank  yersilf — I  did  nuthin'.  There'd  a 
ben  hell  to  pay  if  ye  hadn't  shown  up." 

"They  are  still  there—" 

"I'll  take  'em  home.  Mr.  Farwell  says  for  ye  to 
take  yer  men  back  to  town,  Card.  He's  obliged  to  ye 
fer  yer  koind  offices,"  he  grinned.  "Who  tipped  ye 
off?"  he  added. 


270  THE  THRESHOLD 

"D'ye  think  I  need  a  tip  fer  a  yellin'  mob  headed  fer 
the  Hall?" 

Card  went  to  collect  his  men. 

"Did  ye  put  Card  wise?"  Patsy  demanded. 

"No — they  passed  me  in  a  car,  as  I  was  running  to 
get  Jake — I  didn't  tell  any  one." 

"Good —  I'm  glad  av  that.  Well — good  noight, 
to  yez.  Ye're  all  roight!"  he  added. 

He  went  out.  "Come  on,  byes;  Dick  wants  ye  to 
go  home,"  he  called  to  the  crowd. 

Card  and  his  party  followed.  Joan  locked  the  door 
after  them,  and  slipped  upstairs  to  Dick's  room. 
There  was  a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth.  Gregory  sat 
by  Dick's  bed,  watching  him.  The  boy  was  asleep. 

At  sound  of  Joan's  step  he  rose  and  came  to  her, 
both  his  hands  out.  She  laid  her  own  in  them. 

"You've  brought  him  home,  Joan,"  he  said,  and 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"No,  Gregory,  we  brought  each  other." 

"My  dear — my  dear — nothing  matters  except  this — 
I've  got  you  both  back." 

"Joan!"  breathed  Dick. 

She  dropped  down  beside  his  bed,  and  hid  her  face 
in  his  pillow.  Gregory's  hand  came  gently  on  her 
shoulder,  and  she  could  not  move,  so  great  was  her 
content. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

MRS.  CRADDOCK  carried  Dick's  breakfast 
to  him,  herself.     She  reported  him  as  all 
right,  but  that  he  did  not  wish  to  see  any- 
body except  the  doctor.     Joan  did  not  appear  and 
Gregory  paced  the  house  impatiently,  waiting  for  her. 
He  telephoned  the  doctor  about  Dick,  and  settled  down 
to  his  papers,  in  a  fine  state  of  nerves. 

Ben  Card  called  up  to  ask  if  everything  was  quiet  at 
the  Hall,  or  if  Mr.  Farwell  would  like  a  couple  of  spe- 
cial police  on  the  place. 

"No — there's  no  need.  How  did  you  know  about 
the  trouble  here  last  night?" 

"One  of  my  men  watched  Grady's  saloon  all  the 
time.  That's  headquarters  for  'em,  ye  know.  When 
Grady  got  'em  filled  up  with  booze  an'  excited  with 
speeches,  they  started  out  to  get  you.  My  man  got 
word  to  me — I  jumped  into  a  machine  with  my  specials 
and  beat  it  for  the  Hall,  the  long  way,  so  I  didn't  pass 
'em  on  the  road." 

"That  was  quick  work,  Mr.  Card,  and  I'm  greatly 
obliged  to  you.  Another  question — why  did  you  call 
the  militia?" 

"Because  I  thought  it  was  time  to  put  a  stop  to  that 
mob.  It  was  gettin'  bolder  every  minute.  The  town 
wouldn't  stand  for  it." 

"You  did  not  have  any  appeal  for  such  help  from 
Larsen  or  any  employe  of  mine?" 

271 


272  THE  THRESHOLD 

"No,  sir.  But  my  specials  couldn't  protect  your 
property  any  longer  against  'em — " 

"I  wish  you  had  consulted  me  about  that,  Card. 
The  strikers  think  I  asked  for  the  troops." 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  what  they  think !  They 
wuz  breakin'  the  laws  an' — " 

"Thank  you.  Good  morning,"  said  Gregory,  briefly, 
hanging  up  the  receiver. 

Joan  was  standing  on  the  hearth  rug  when  he  went 
back  to  the  library.  He  paused  at  the  threshold  a 
second  to  smile  at  her. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  there,  Joan  Babcock,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  Gregory,"  she  answered,  with  her  heart 
beating  in  her  throat. 

"When  did  I  begin  to  call  you  Joan?"  he  asked  her. 

"I  don't  remember.  It  seems  as  if  you  had  always 
called  me  that." 

"Did  you  sleep?" 

"Yes — better  than  I  have  for  weeks." 

"It  will  take  a  long  time  to  get  you  and  Dick  well 
again!" 

"How  is  he?" 

"Craddock  says  he  slept — but  he  does  not  want  to 
see  us.  I  suppose  I  am  the  one  he  wants  not  to  see," 
he  added  with  a  sigh. 

"I  wonder  if  I  can  ever  help  you  to  see  and  under- 
stand what  has  happened  in  Dick's  mind?  How  he 
has  come  to  blame  you  so  bitterly?"  she  asked  earnestly. 

"I  should  be  so  grateful,  if  you  would  try,  Joan.  It 
has  been  very  terrible  for  me,  up  here,  alone." 

"Oh,  I  know — how  well  I  know!  My  thoughts 
have  been  up  here  with  you  so  often,  Gregory." 

"My  dear,  how  we  have  pulled  you  and  tossed  you 
about,  since  you  came  to  us." 


THE  THRESHOLD  273 

"I've  suffered,  too,  Gregory,  and  learned." 

"That  goes  for  all  three  of  us,  then.  Will  you  tell 
me  something  of  what  happened?" 

"I  think  perhaps  Dick  would  rather  tell  you  him- 
self. You  know  him  and  you'll  understand  most  of 
it — but  there  is  one  side  of  him  you  do  not  know — be- 
cause he  never  was  aroused  before.  He  hurls  himself 
with  absolute  passion,  into  the  thing  that  interests  him. 
It  is  that  way  when  you  are  with  people  who  have 
wrongs,"  she  said.  "You  see,  every  day,  conditions 
which  could  be  changed  if  anybody  cared.  They 
fairly  smothered  Dick,  he  had  no  training,  no  prepa- 
ration— he  cared  like  a  child — without  reason." 

"I  understand." 

"You  see,  when  I  began  to  teach  him  something  of 
modern  sociology,  I  supposed  that  he  would  have  four 
years  of  college  training  to  ripen  his  judgment  before 
he  came  to  grips  with  actual  conditions." 

He  nodded. 

"The  trip  to  the  factories  was  all  right.  I  agreed 
to  that  enthusiastically,  you  remember?  But  after  he 
took  the  position  in  the  factory,  Gregory,  I  ceased  to 
stand  at  the  wheel.  Events  and  passions  caught  him 
up — and  they  have  nearly  broken  him,  poor  Dick." 

She  stopped  to  steady  her  trembling  lips. 

"He  came  to  hate  me,  because  the  rest  of  them 
hated  me?  I  never  knew  what  hate  meant  until  now," 
he  said  bitterly. 

"And  you  care?"  she  asked  him  eagerly. 

"Nobody  wants  to  be  hated  like  that!" 

"Nobody  need  be,  Gregory!" 

The  doctor  was  announced  and  came  in  for  a  few 
moments  before  he  went  up  to  Dick. 

"You  need  a  vacation,  young  woman,"  he  said  to 


274  THE  THRESHOLD 

Joan,  marking  the  circles  around  her  eyes  and  her 
pale  cheeks. 

"I'll  be  all  right  when  the  strike  is  settled." 

"Humph!  She's  done  the  work  of  three  women, 
on  little  food  and  no  proper  sleep,"  he  said  to  Greg- 
ory. "Women  are  awful  fools,  but  I  don't  know  what 
we'd  do  without  'em.  I'll  go  have  a  look  at  that  boy 
now." 

He  had  broken  the  spell  for  them,  and  they  talked 
casually  until  he  came  down  again. 

"Precious  young  idiot!"  remarked  the  doctor. 

"Is  he  worse?"  Joan  asked  anxiously. 

"He's  nervously  worn  out,  but  he'll  be  all  right,  if 
he  gets  the  proper  rest.  Ought  to  get  away,  out  of  all 
this  excitement." 

"Will  he  go  away?"  Gregory  inquired. 

"Probably  not.  He  won't  have  a  nurse — and  he's 
got  some  cranky  notion  that  he  wants  to  be  let  abso- 
lutely alone  for  today  and  tomorrow.  Better  humour 
him,  I  think." 

"Of  course,"  Gregory  agreed. 

"Mrs.  Craddock  has  orders  about  his  food  and  abso- 
lute quiet  may  be  the  best  thing  for  him  in  the  end." 

"No  one  shall  disturb  him,"  Gregory  said. 

"I'll  come  tomorrow.  You  keep  out  of  the  village 
for  a  day  or  two,  young  woman !" 

"Sorry  I  can't  do  that.  If  Dick  has  gone  into  re- 
tirement, I  must  go  back  this  afternoon." 

"Can  you  do  anything  with  her,  Mr.  Farwell?" 

"No." 

"There  you  are.     Well — good  day  to  you." 

He  bustled  out. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  Dick  has  shut  himself  off  up 
there?"  Gregory  inquired. 


THE  THRESHOLD  275 

"It's  one  way  of  getting  yourself  together.  I  think 
it's  very  wise  of  him." 

"It  is  because  he  cannot  bear  to  see  me." 

"Give  him  time,  Gregory.  He's  only  a  boy,  and 
he's  been  on  the  rack." 

He  went  over  to  the  window  and  turned  unseeing 
eyes  upon  the  brown  and  distant  hills.  Joan  waited 
for  him  to  speak,  and  a  long  silence  fell  between  them. 

"Must  you  go  back  today?"  he  asked  finally. 

"I  think  so.  Mrs.  Rafferry  will  want  to  bring  the 
children  home,  I'm  sure,  and  there  will  be  much  I  can 
do  to  help  her.  She  has  been  such  a  true  friend  to 
Dick  and  me  that  I  know  I  can  never  repay  her." 

"Dick's  troubles,  Mrs.  Rafferty's  troubles — you  look 
after  everybody  but  me,  Joan,"  he  burst  out  at  her. 

She  smiled  at  that. 

"You  don't  need  looking  after.  You  aren't  young 
and  foolish,  nor  old  and  poor — " 

"I'm  unhappy  and  lonely.     Isn't  that  enough?" 

"I'm  only  just  one  person,  you  know.  Won't  it  do, 
if  I  get  around  to  your  troubles  later?" 

"I  suppose  it  will  have  to." 

"I  wonder  when  I  shall  get  around  to  my  own  trou- 
bles?" she  remarked. 

He  turned  to  her,  all  contrition. 

"We  are  selfish  brutes,  all  of  us,  aren't  we?  Joan, 
can't  I  help  with  your  troubles?" 

"Yes — I  think  you'll  have  to,  Gregory,  pres- 
ently." 

"May  I  say  I  am  at  your  service  entirely?" 

"No  matter  what  I  demand?" 

"No  matter  what  you  demand." 

"Thank  you." 

After  lunch  she  went  off  to  the  village.     When  Jer- 


276  THE  THRESHOLD 

gens  stopped  the  car  at  the  Raffertys'  door,  Patsy  came 
out  to  meet  her. 

"How's  Dick?"  he  demanded. 

"He's  all  right,  but  he  won't  see  anybody  for  two 
days,"  she  answered. 

"How  did  you  get  him  to  go  up  there?" 

"I  begged  him  to — he  saw  that  I  meant  to  go." 

"Is  he  goin'  to  stay?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  haven't  seen  him." 

Indoors  Mrs.  Rafferty  turned  at  their  entrance. 

"So,  ye've  gone  back,  have  ye?"  she  demanded. 

"I  went  last  night  because  I  thought  I  could  help 
Mr.  Farwell.  I  stayed  over  night  because  of  Dick. 
Here  I  am  back,"  she  answered  simply. 

"Patsy  an'  me  can't  understand  where  ye  arr,  in  this 
foight.  Furst  ye're  on  wan  soide  an'  then  on  the 
other." 

"Because  I  know  both  sides,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  because 
I  know  that  right  and  wrong  are  on  both  sides." 

"That  ain't  possible,"  Patsy  broke  in. 

"Yes,  it  is,  and  that's  what  we  working  people  have 
got  to  see  before  we  can  get  things  straightened  out." 

"Ye'll  not  teach  it  to  the  employer!"  cried  Mrs. 
Rafferty. 

"Yes,  you  will — you've  taught  it  to  Dick." 

"Oh— well,  Dick—"  Patsy  said. 

"Dick  is  employer  class,  and  he  knows  now.  He's 
lived  down  here  with  us  and  he  understands  our  side. 
I've  lived  up  there  with  Mr.  Farwell,  and  I  under- 
stand his  side." 

"What  side  has  he  got?"  demanded  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  make  you  understand?  You 
know  how  Dick  was  when  he  came  down  here  first. 
How  everything  surprised  him  and  how  the  factory 


THE  THRESHOLD  277 

made  him  sick?  Well — if  I  had  never  gone  to  the 
Hall,  Dick  would  probably  never  have  known  any- 
thing about  this  village.  He  would  have  gone  off 
to  college;  when  he  became  owner  here,  he  would  have 
left  it  to  Saunders,  while  he  lived  in  New  York.  Now, 
that's  the  way  Mr.  Farwell  has  been.  No  one  made 
him  take  an  interest  in  factories.  Ht  dislikes  business 
and  people — he  has  money  enough  to  hire  men  to  look 
after  his  interests — " 

"But,  he's  got  no  roight — " 

"Mrs.  Rafferty,  I'm  not  talking  about  rights,  or 
duties,  I'm  only  talking  about  how  things  are.  I  know 
him  to  be  a  kind  gentleman,  who  would  not  deliberately 
hurt  any  one.  I  know  he  is  not  the  devil  you  think 
him.  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  me,  and  I've  hurt 
him  and  upset  his  life,  by  leading  Dick  down  here. 
Can't  you  see  how  dreadful  it  has  been  for  him,  dur- 
ing the  strike?" 

"Aw  rats!"  said  Patsy. 

"Patsy,  you  expect  him  to  be  fair  to  you,  but  you'd 
die  rather  than  be  fair  to  him !  He  loves  Dick,  and 
every  minute  of  the  riots  and  trouble  down  here,  he 
worried  about  Dick's  being  hurt." 

"He  could  a-stopped  it  in  a  minute.  All  he  had  to 
do  was  call  off  the  scabs  and  tell  Saunders  to  take  Dick 
back  and  recognize  the  Union." 

"All  he  had  to  do  was  to  give  up  his  way  entirely 
and  let  us  have  ours,"  she  retorted.  "I'm  not  saying 
he's  a  saint.  Saunders  toid  him  unions  made  trouble 
and  he  believed  it.  He's  got  a  right  to  object  to 
Unions  in  his  own  factory,  Patsy." 

"Aw,  she's  on  his  soide,  why  do  ye  argy  with  her?" 
said  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"That  isn't  fair !"  cried  Joan.     "I  only  want  to  show 


278  THE  THRESHOLD 

you  that  we've  got  to  prove  to  him  that  unions  are  all 
right,  that  we'll  deal  squarely  with  him,  if  he  does  with 
us.  We've  got  to  work  it  out  together.  You  see  that, 
don't  you,  Patsy?" 

"I  see  that  we'll  never  git  anything  out  of  'im  that 
we  don't  take  from  him!" 

"Do  you  feel  that  way  about  Dick?" 

"No—     Sure  I  don't." 

"Are  you  willing  to  work  with  Dick,  when  he  is 
owner?" 

"Sure,  we  are!" 

"That's  the  real  point.  Mr.  Farwell  doesn't  count 
really.  He  loves  Dick  and  I  think  he'll  work  with 
him,  too.  Dick  is  the  real  hub  of  the  wheel." 

"Dick's  all  roight,"  said  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

Joan  went  to  her  and  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"Won't  you  say  that  about  me,  too?  You  and 
Patsy  are  the  truest  friends  I  have,  and  I  can't  bear  to 
have  you  doubt  me." 

"Yer  a  noice  gurl,  but  ye  can't  be  on  both  soides," 
persisted  the  Irish  woman. 

"Will  you  trust  me  for  just  a  few  weeks,  no  matter 
what  I  do?" 

"I  will  not!" 

"Mrs.  Rafferty— please?" 

"Would  you,  Patsy?"  inquired  his  mother. 

"Sure." 

"All  roight  then,  but  I  don't!" 

Joan  kissed  her  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Patsy. 

"Cut  out  the  sentiments !"  said  he,  ignoring  it. 

She  laughed,  and  went  to  work  helping  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty, confident  of  their  friendliness.  She  spent  two 
days  in  the  district,  with  only  a  telephone  message 
from  Gregory.  The  third  day  she  went  up  to  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  279 

Hall.  She  must  find  out  from  Dick  what  he  purposed 
to  do  for  the  men — because  they  were  up  to  the  last 
ounce  of  credit  now. 

It  was  the  third  day  after  his  return  to  the  Hall 
that  Dick  sent  for  Mr.  Farwell.  When  Gregory 
entered  the  room  he  thought  with  a  pang,  that 
Dick's  youth  had  gone.  This  was  a  man  who  faced 
him  so  gravely,  and  pointed  to  the  chair  beside  his 
bed. 

"I've  taken  these  two  days,"  he  began  without  pre- 
amble, "to  think  things  out,  and  now  I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

Gregory  nodded. 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  would  never  have 
set  foot  in  your  house  again,  except  for  Joan." 

"Dick,  why  do  you  hate  me  like  this?" 

"If  you  had  lived  through  what  I  have,  you  would 
know." 

"I  did  not  send  for  the  militia — I  did  not  know  it 
was  called,  until  I  came  to  the  fire." 

Dick  turned  grave  eyes  upon  him. 

"Who  called  it,  then?" 

"Card,  so  he  says.  He  was  frightened  about  the 
mob.  Nobody  from  the  factory  even  suggested  it — 
he  admits  that." 

"You  didn't  do  it!"  Dick  repeated. 

Gregory  shook  his  head. 

"Would  you  have  prevented  it,  if  you  could?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  of  you  and  Joan." 

Dick  half  rose  on  his  elbow. 

"You  see — it's  only  what  belongs  to  you  that  you 
care  about!"  he  cried.  "You  don't  care  if  little  Jim 


z8o  THE  THRESHOLD 

Rafferty  and  five  men  and  one  woman  were  shot  at, 
and  wounded." 

"I  don't  care  as  I  would  if  you  or  Joan  had  been 
hurt.  How  can  I,  Dick,  I  don't  know  them,  or  love 
them." 

"You  ought  to  know  them,  and  whether  you  love 
them  or  not,  you  ought  to  have  a  decent  human  feeling 
for  them." 

"Shall  we  wait  until  you're  stronger  for  this?" 

"No— I'm  all  right." 

"There  are  mistakes  on  both  sides,  Dick.  You  ac- 
cused me  of  calling  the  militia,  of  actually  shooting  that 
child — we're  none  of  us  infallible." 

"You  sent  the  scabs,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes — but  I  have  a  right  to  hire  such  men  as  I 
choose  for  the  factory.  Even  you  must  admit  that?" 

"I  don't  admit  it.  Some  of  our  men  had  worked 
for  you  five  years.  They  had  a  right  to  be  heard, 
before  you  put  scabs  in  their  places." 

"Saunders  runs  the  factory,  Dick." 

"But  Saunders  got  authority  from  you — he  wouldn't 
have  dared  act  without." 

"That's  true — I  agreed  to  it,  on  his  recommenda- 
tion." 

"Besides  you  ordered  Saunders  to  fire  me." 

"Just  as  you  in  turn,  broke  your  promise  to  me," 

"What  was  a  promise  against  the  good  of  a  whole 
community?" 

"You  might  have  come  to  me  with  your  belief  that 
the  men  needed  unions — you  might  have  consulted 
me.  After  all,  I  am  the  head  of  that  factory,  even 
though  I  act  only  as  your  guardian." 

"Y'ou  would  have  laughed  at  me  and  shut  down  on 
the  men." 


THE  THRESHOLD  281 

"I  got  you  the  job  on  one  condition — you  broke  the 
condition  and  I  took  away  the  job.  It  was  fair  and 
square,  Dick." 

"You've  never  been  fair  and  square  about  anything 
connected  with  the  factory!" 

"Look  here,  my  boy.  I'm  willing  to  make  allow- 
ances for  your  state  of  nerves  and  for  this  experience 
you've  been  through,  but  I'm  not  going  to  stand  for 
that  sort  of  wholesale  denunciation  from  you.  I've 
had  enough  of  it,"  blazed  Gregory.  "I  may  not  have 
lived  in  the  shanties  with  the  workmen  as  you've  seen 
fit  to  do,  nor  have  I  worked  for  a  dollar  a  day  in  the 
shops,  but  I  have  engaged  an  honest,  capable  man  to 
manage  the  business,  and  so  far  as  I  knew,  he  was 
doing  it  well." 

"So  far  as  you  knew — there's  the  whole  thing  in  a 
nutshell.  It  was  your  duty  to  know." 

"Was  it,  now?  Suppose  I  had  lived  in  Europe  dur- 
ing the  time  of  your  minority.  When  you  inherited 
the  plant  would  you  have  bitterly  denounced  me  to  the 
employes,  because  the  conditions  were  not  to  your  lik- 
ing? Would  you  have  asserted  that  my  duty  was  to 
have  left  Europe  and  whatever  I  might  have  been 
doing  there,  to  have  come  home  and  spent  my  life  im- 
proving this  property  of  which  I  was  merely  trustee?" 

"It  isn't  the  same  thing.  You  were  right  up  here 
on  this  hill — you  drove  through  the  village  every 
day—" 

"So  did  you.  And  you  would  never  have  seen  it 
any  more  than  I  did,  if  Joan  hadn't  pointed  it  out  to 
you.  You  aren't  the  perfect  hero,  Dick — you  haven't 
found  out  everything  for  yourself." 

"But  Joan  pointed  it  out  to  you,  too,  and  you 
wouldn't  look." 


282  THE  THRESHOLD 

"After  all,  it's  your  job,  Dick,  not  mine.  It's  of 
your  era,  and  not  mine.  What  do  you  wish  to  do 
now?" 

"I  Ve  got  to  get  my  trial  out  of  the  way  first." 

"That  can  be  arranged,  no  doubt.  I  sent  word  to 
the  insurance  companies  that  we  would  destroy  the 
policies.  [You  have  inflicted  a  big  loss  upon  yourself, 
Dick." 

"I  don't  care  about  that — only  I  don't  want  the  men 
to  suffer." 

"How  do  you  expect  to  prevent  it?  You've  taken 
away  their  jobs,  what  do  you  intend  they  shall  do?" 

"I  want  to  build  the  factories  over  again,  the  new 
modern  kind — " 

"What  are  you  going  to  build  it  with?" 

"I  should  have  to  borrow  the  money." 

"On  what  security?" 

"The  money  that  will  come  to  me  when  I'm  of  age." 

"It  will  take  that  and  more  to  build  the  kind  of 
place  you  mean." 

"I  don't  care.  I  intend  to  make  my  living  out  of 
the  factory." 

"Are  you  going  to  run  it  yourself?" 

"I  haven't  decided." 

Gregory  tried  not  to  smile. 

"Suppose  this  worked  out  the  way  you  want  it  to, 
which  is  not  by  any  means  certain,  it  would  take  a  year 
more  to  build  the  new  plant.  Do  you  intend  to  sup- 
port the  village  in  idleness  for  that  length  of  time?" 

"No — that's  the  most  important  part  of  the  plan. 
I  want  to  put  all  these  men  to  work  at  once,  helping 
to  build  the  new  factory,  helping  to  build  the  new  cot- 
tages. I  want  them  to  feel  that  it's  their  factory, 
their  cottages.  I  want  them  to  be  a  part  of  it,  and 


THE  THRESHOLD  283 

when  I  am  the  owner,  I  want  them  to  own  shares  in 
the  business.  The  one  thing  I've  got  straight  in  my 
mind  is  that  we've  got  to  work  out  labour  and  capital 
problems  together,"  he  ended,  absorbed  in  his  idea. 

"But,  Dick,  these  men  aren't  carpenters,  or  build- 
ers. How  can  they  help?" 

"We  would  have  to  hire  a  contractor  and  some 
skilled  workers,  of  course,  but  our  men  could  work 
under  them." 

"The  unions  wouldn't  have  it." 

"I  thought  of  that.  There's  a  contractor  in  the  vil- 
lage who  would  do  it,  and  we'd  hire  all  the  carpenters 
and  masons — they  aren't  organized — " 

Gregory  smiled  but  Dick  did  not  even  pause. 

"It  may  be  slow — but  in  the  end,  it  will  pay.  I 
know  it  will  work — but  I  suppose  it  sounds  crazy  to 
you." 

"It  doesn't  strike  me  as  being  practical,  I  confess." 

"Do  you  think  I  could  get  the  money?" 

"Urn— probably." 

"Would  you  prevent  me?" 

"I  don't  know — I  should  have  to  think  about  that." 

"I  never  wanted  to  do  anything  in  my  life  as  much 
as  I  want  to  do  this!  I  want  to  prove  to  them  that 
we  care  about  them — that  we  need  them  and  their 
loyalty  and  their  help  1" 

He  spoke  so  earnestly,  that  Gregory  was  touched. 
He  laid  away  his  own  hurt  at  Dick's  attack  upon  him, 
in  his  innermost  heart. 

"What  does  Joan  think  of  this  plan?" 

"I  haven't  told  her  yet.  Have  you  talked  to  her?" 
he  asked  eagerly. 

"A  little.  You  said  you  came  to  my  rescue  the  other 
night  because  she  brought  you — " 


284  THE  THRESHOLD 

"She  thought  she  could  save  you.  She  would  come. 
I  could  not  let  her  come  alone." 

Gregory  looked  at  him  directly. 

"You  love  her,  Dick?" 

"She  is  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the  world!" 
the  boy  answered  softly,  his  eyes  full  of  dreams. 

"She  has  been  with  you  every  step  of  this  fight — " 
Gregory  said. 

"Yes — all  but  her  heart — "  Dick  murmured. 

But  Gregory's  thoughts  were  too  busy  with  their 
new  content.  Dick  and  Joan ! 

"She's  older  than  you  are,  Dick." 

"Does  that  make  any  difference  when  you  love? 
She's  younger  than  you  are!" 

"Well,  of  course — but  I  was  thinking — " 

"Has  she  told  you  about  her — her  love?"  Dick 
urged. 

"No — we  have  not  spoken  of  it." 

"Get  her  to  tell  you,"  he  said. 

"Shall  I?"  in  surprise. 

Dick  nodded. 

"I've  made  amends  now,"  he  said  wearily. 

"I  want  to  think  over  your  plan  about  the  factory, 
Dick.  I'll  come  back  later  in  the  day,  and  we'll  dis- 
cuss it  again." 

He  started  for  the  door — then  came  back. 

"I  wish  we  might  let  the  past  die,  Dick.  Can't  we 
begin  again?  I've  given  you  my  affection  so  long  that 
I  cannot  seem  to  stop  all  at  once.  Is  friendship  out 
of  the  question  ?" 

Dick's  big  eyes  gazed  up  at  him,  full  of  pain. 

"Friendship?  When  I've  given  you — ?"  He 
shook  his  head  faintly  and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 


WHEN  Gregory  came  downstairs  after  his 
talk  with  his  nephew  he  found  Joan  wait- 
ing for  him.  After  their  greeting  she  said, 

"How  is  our  boy?" 

"Joan,  he's  gone.     He  isn't  a  boy  any  longer." 

"I've  thought  that,  too,  sometimes,"  she  nodded. 
"But  Dick's  youth  will  come  back,  Gregory,  when  he 
begins  his  real  work.  I  never  had  any  youth  at  all  un- 
til I  went  to  college,  and  you  know  how  absurdly  young 
I  was,  when  I  used  to  live  here,  long  ago." 

"It  does  seem  long  ago,  doesn't  it?"  he  answered. 

"It  was  another  decade  in  our  lives." 

"Can't  we  ever  get  it  again?  Can't  we  go  back  and 
live  it  once  more?  It  was  such  a  happy  time!" 

"Poor  Gregory!  We've  pulled  your  life  up  by  the 
very  roots,  Dick  and  I,"  Joan  said  ruefully. 

"That's  the  thing  to  do  with  weeds,  no  doubt,"  he 
smiled.  "You  haven't  forgotten  how  you  used  to  la- 
ment my  waste!" 

"Did  I?  I've  had  my  lesson,  Gregory.  No  more 
rule  of  thumb  for  me — I'll  never  preach  to  you  again." 

"Oh,  but  I  like  it!"  he  protested. 

"It's  one  of  the  luxuries  you  will  have  to  do  with- 
out," she  answered  him. 

"If  only  life  would  stand  still  when  it's  happy  and 
hurry  faster  when  it's  sad!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  wouldn't  change  it,  Gregory." 

285 


286  THE  THRESHOLD 

He  walked  about  the  room,  hands  deep  in  his  pock- 
ets, head  bent  in  a  characteristic  way  of  his  which  was 
dear  to  her.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  thought  how 
glad  she  was  to  be  there,  in  that  quiet,  soft-hued  room, 
watching  Gregory  pace  up  and  down. 

"Dick  has  some  wild  scheme  for  the  rebuilding  of 
the  factory,"  he  said  to  her. 

"Has  he?" 

"He  tells  me  he  has  not  talked  to  you  about  it,  yet." 

"No." 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  encourage  him  in  it." 

"You  disapprove  of  it,  then?" 

"I  don't  know  yet — I  haven't  thought  it  over.  But 
it  sounds  utter  nonsense." 

"Do  you  think  I  always  encourage  him  in  utter  non- 
sense?" 

"By  advice  of  counsel,  I  refuse  to  answer." 

"Gregory,"  she  challenged  him,  "you  don't  think 
these  eventful  weeks  that  have  made  a  man  of  Dick 
and  an  old  woman  of  me,  are  just  nonsense,  do  you?" 

"So  far,  I  should  have  to  answer  yes.  Five  years 
from  now,  when  I  can  look  at  Dick's  accomplishment, 
and  yours,  then  I  may  change  that  answer,"  was  his 
grave  reply. 

"Gregory,  how  can  you  think  that?" 

He  stopped  before  her,  facing  her  directly. 

"I  see  the  factory  in  ashes,  men  and  women  of  a 
whole  district  out  of  work,  Dick  almost  a  nervous 
wreck,  under  indictment  as  an  incendiary.  I  see  my 
former  employes  aroused  to  a  pitch  of  hate  and  anger 
against  me  by  my  nephew,  so  that  they  want  to  kill  me. 
I  see  the  boy  I  have  loved  like  a  son,  denounce  me  as 
a  monster,  in  a  public  court — " 

"Oh,  Gregory — don't!"  Joan  begged. 


THE  THRESHOLD  287 

"I  see  you,  my  friend,  worn  and  pale  and  almost  ill, 
from  your  part  in  scenes  of  violence  and  destruction. 
Is  this  nonsense,  or  has  it  all  some  purpose?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Oh,  Gregory,  it  has  purpose — it's  got  to  have,"  she 
said  with  passion. 

He  turned  away. 

"I  hope  so — it  has  cost  me  pretty  dear,"  was  his 
answer. 

"And  Dick — and  me,"  she  added  softly. 

"Oh,  yes — but  you  have  love,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  a  startled  glance  to  him,  but  he  was  pacing 
again,  head  down.  She  dismissed  the  idea — he  had 
meant  that  the  village  loved  Dick  and  herself,  in  dis- 
tinction to  its  hate  of  him. 

"Yes,  Gregory,  but  even  love  isn't  enough." 

"Isn't  it?" 

"No — we  must  build,  where  we've  torn  down,  or  it 
is  what  you  call  it — nonsense." 

"Go  get  Dick  to  tell  you  his  plans.  He  does  not 
know  you're  here,"  he  said. 

She  rose  and  paused  a  moment  beside  him.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"We  want  to  rebuild  what  we've  torn  down  in  your 
heart,  too,  Gregory." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear — if  you  let  me  share  your 
lives,  perhaps — " 

She  went  swiftly  out  the  door  and  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  she  stopped  to  still  the  beating  of  her  heart. 
He  looked  upon  her  as  the  destroyer  of  his  life — he 
was  trying,  but  he  could  not  forgive  her.  It  was  only 
for  Dick's  sake  that  he  tolerated  her  presence.  She 
braced  herself,  and  stepped  to  Dick's  open  door. 

"May  I  come  in?" 


288  THE  THRESHOLD 

He  turned  a  troubled  face  toward  her,  and  it  flooded 
with  pleasure. 

"Joan,  I  didn't  know  you'd  come!"  he  cried. 

"I've  been  in  the  village,  looking  after  things  a  bit." 

She  sat  beside  him,  with  her  hand  in  his. 

"How  are  they  all?  What  is  the  news?  It  seems 
as  if  I'd  been  away,  laid  off  in  this  room  for  years." 

"They  are  all  relying  on  what  you  said  about  a  new 
factory,  Dick,  but  they  can't  hold  out  another  day 
without  help.  The  village  store-keepers  have  shut 
down  on  credit." 

"I'll  have  to  arrange  about  that,"  he  said,  with  an 
anxious  frown.  "I  had  to  get  my  mind  clear  about 
the  whole  thing,  first.  It's  quiet  here  and  I  can  think. 
I  see  it  all  now,  Joan,  as  clear  as  crystal." 

"Do  you,  Dick?     Tell  me." 

He  began  to  explain  the  idea,  only  this  time,  being 
sure  of  her  understanding  and  sympathy,  he  poured 
out  his  very  heart  to  her,  his  hopes,  his  fears,  his  trust 
in  the  workers,  and  his  belief  that  all  working  together 
they  could  make  Farwell  a  big,  happy  co-operating 
community. 

As  he  talked,  as  he  developed  the  plan  for  her  in- 
spection, he  sat  up,  his  eyes  shining,  his  face  flushed. 
To  Joan  he  seemed  the  voice  of  the  future — the  ardent 
young  leader  of  the  new  era.  Here  was  the  justifica- 
tion Gregory  sought  for ! 

Her  head  went  down  on  the  bed,  and  great  big  un- 
controllable sobs  shook  her  body.  Her  nerves  were 
too  tired  to  bear  anything  more.  Dick  could  not  un- 
derstand at  all,  he  had  relied  so  on  her  support!  He 
took  her  into  his  arms  and  held  her  very  gently,  touch- 
ing her  hair  with  his  hand,  with  his  lips,  as  her  head 
lay  on  his  breast,  and  her  sobs  shook  them  both. 


THE  THRESHOLD  289 

"My  dearest — my  blessed  Joan — what  is  it?  Can't 
you  tell  me?"  he  asked  her  over  and  over,  but  she  did 
not  hear  him,  she  was  not  conscious  of  his  touch,  she 
was  so  shaken  with  the  nervous  storm  of  tears. 

Little  by  little  she  got  control  again.  Suddenly  she 
felt  Dick's  arms  about  her.  She  lifted  her  face  to 
make  some  excuse  for  herself,  when  his  lips  sealed 
hers,  his  kisses  were  on  eyes  and  cheeks. 

"Joan— Joan— " 

She  drew  herself  resolutely  away  and  got  to  her 
feet,  forcing  an  hysteric  laugh. 

"My  dear — I  don't  often  go  to  pieces  like  that,  and 
have  to  be  petted  back  to  sanity." 

"Joan— I—" 

"Wait  a  minute,  a  little  cold  water  will  help — " 

She  hurried  into  his  bathroom  to  bathe  her  eyes  and 
presently  she  came  back  to  him. 

-Joan— I—" 

"It  was  nerves,  Dick,  nothing  else.  The  plan  made 
me  so  happy  and  so  proud  of  you,  that  I  went  to  pieces. 
Let's  forget  it!  I  think  you've  hit  upon  the  crux  of 
the  whole  thing,  Dick,  if  we  could  only  work  out  the 
practical  details,"  she  said,  in  her  most  business  like 
tone. 

"I  want  to  talk  about  you — "  Dick  said  softly. 

"No — I'm  all  right.  Now,  what  schemes  have  you 
thought  of  for  financing  it?  Mr.  Farwell  seemed  to 
think  the  whole  thing  was  very  impractical,"  she  began. 

"Yes,  he  would  think  so,  because  he  doesn't  see  the 
idea.  We've  got  to  convince  him,  or  we  can't  pull  it 
through — because,  after  all,  he  is  my  guardian. 
Couldn't  you  manage  him?" 

"No,  of  course  not.     Tell  me  what  you  told  him." 

He  went  over  it  all  again.     Here  and  there  she 


29o  THE  THRESHOLD 

made  a  good  suggestion,  or  criticized  a  point.  They 
argued  and  discussed,  step  by  step,  with  no  thought  of 
time. 

Presently  Gregory  appeared  at  the  door. 

"I  heard  voices  going  on  and  on —     Is  it  a  debate?" 

"I'm  telling  her  about  my  scheme — and  she's  telling 
me  what  she  used  to  dream  about  the  new  place.  Tell 
him,"  Dick  said. 

Joan  smiled  up  at  Gregory. 

"Some  days  when  Farwell  was  just  unbearable,  I 
used  to  escape  into  a  Farwell  I  made  up." 

"Where  was  it?"  he  inquired. 

"It  was  a  mile  out  of  the  present  town,"  she  an- 
swered. "There  is  a  spot  in  the  valley  where  I  used 
to  ride,  about  six  or  eight  miles  of  green,  watered  by 
a  stream — I  always  saw  the  big,  sunny  factory  there, 
with  its  hundreds  of  windows,  like  eyes  to  look  out 
with,  on  the  hills  around.  Then,  on  those  hills  were 
the  cottages  for  the  workers,  pretty  modern  houses, 
with  porches,  and  flower  and  vegetable  gardens. 
There  was  a  school,  and  maybe  a  church,  in  my  dream 
village.  It  was  peopled  with  busy,  contented  people." 

Gregory's  puzzled  look  went  from  one  eager  face  to 
the  other. 

"It  wasn't  so  utterly  impractical,  Gregory,"  she  as- 
sured him,  "because  a  half-mile  track  could  run  to  this 
place  easily  from  the  main  railroad,  so  the  shipping 
would  be  as  direct  as  it  was  in  the  old  place." 

He  smiled  at  that. 

"It  wasn't  the  shipping  that  worried  me.  It  was  the 
people.  How  long  do  you  think  it  would  take  those 
filthy  squatters  to  make  your  new  village  as  bad  as  the 
old?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  291 

She  shook  her  head. 

"They  don't  choose  to  be  like  they  are,  Gregory. 
They  don't  know  any  better.  They  would  have  to  be 
taught,  of  course.  But  wouldn't  it  be  worth  while  to 
raise  them  a  whole  class  in  the  scale  of  living?" 

"Would  it?"  he  inquired — then  at  their  hurt  expres- 
sion, he  added  quickly — "I  suppose  it  would." 

"I  think  it's  a  great  idea,  Joan,"  Dick  comforted 
her. 

"There  weren't  any  saloons  or  picture  shows  in  your 
dream  village,"  Gregory  remarked. 

"There's  a  club  house,  with  a  bar,  if  they  want  it!" 
she  flashed  at  him  and  laughed. 

He  laughed,  too. 

"Billiards  and  pool?"  he  teased. 

"In  time — yes." 

"Well,  well  1" 

"It's  all  been  done  in  other  places,"  Dick  said  im- 
patiently. "It's  only  here  in  the  back  woods  that  we 
cling  to  the  Middle  Ages." 

"Don't  go  too  fast  for  me,  Dick.  I  belong  back 
there,  you  know.  So  you  think  this  scheme  would  work 
out,  you  two  unconquerable  idealists?  You  think  such 
a  factory  would  make  a  living  for  a  man  of  Dick's 
tastes?" 

"Yes,"  Joan  answered. 

"It  will  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,"  Gregory  sug- 
gested. 

"I'd  be  willing  to  lose  it,  in  the  experiment,"  cried 
Dick. 

"Would  you  support  him  in  that  madness,  Joan?" 
Gregory  asked  her. 

"Yes,  a  thousand  times,  yes.     Why,  tf  that  village 


THE  THRESHOLD 

should  come  true,  and  Dick  could  work  out  a  big  co- 
operative plant,  I'd  feel  that  Dick  and  I  were  justi- 
fied." 

Gregory  shook  his  head  again.  He  took  a  turn 
across  the  room  and  brought  up  at  the  foot  of  the 
boy's  bed.  He  looked  at  their  eager,  flushed  faces, 
and  all  at  once  his  whimsical  smile  flashed  out  at  them. 

"The  times  are  out  of  joint — O  cursed  spite,  that 
ever  I  was  born  to  set  them  right,"  he  said  ruefully. 
"The  information  that  I  came  to  impart  is  this,  that 
I  am  going  to  New  York  tonight.  Can  I  do  anything 
for  either  of  you?" 

"What  would  you  think  of  my  telling  the  stores  to 
give  the  men  credit,  until  you  make  up  your  mind 
about  the  factory,  and  I  can  get  some  information 
about  the  building  myself?" 

Gregory  considered  that  a  moment. 

"Give  them  credit  for  a  week — by  that  time  we 
ought  to  know  what  we're  going  to  do." 

"All  right.     Much  obliged." 

"By  the  way,  I've  decided  not  to  prosecute  the  in- 
cendiary. I've  directed  my  lawyer  to  tell  the  judge 
that  we  are  going  to  settle  out  of  court.  I  think  youVe 
invented  a  new  crime,  Dick." 

"Thanks  for  getting  me  off.  If  you  two  will  get 
out,  I'm  going  to  get  up,"  Dick  said. 

"Oh,  wait  till  tomorrow,  Dick,"  Joan  urged. 

"Nope.  Too  much  to  do.  I'll  be  down  in  ten  min- 
utes. Will  one  of  you  call  up  Patsy,  and  get  him  out 
here?" 

Joan  nodded  and  she  and  Gregory  left  him. 

"You  want  to  see  him  put  this  through,  Joan?"  he 
asked  her  again. 

"Oh—so  much!" 


THE  THRESHOLD  293 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  day  or  so.  You  two  stay  here, 
won't  you?" 

"I  can't  promise  for  Dick." 

"Try  to  persuade  him.  You  must  not  let  him  shut 
me  out  of  your  lives,  Joan." 

"He  couldn't,"  she  said  simply. 

"Love  is  selfish,  sometimes,"  he  replied.  "Good- 
bye for  a  day  or  so.  Suppose  you  wish  me  luck." 

"Gregory,  1  always  do." 

"Thanks.     I'm  glad  of  that." 

Patsy  was  summoned  by  Joan  and  in  due  time,  ar- 
rived. He  found  his  two  friends  at  the  library  table, 
with  every  picture  and  pamphlet  and  note  book  col- 
lected on  the  famous  factory  tour,  spread  out  before 
them.  They  greeted  him  enthusiastically.  He  cast  a 
quick,  inquiring  look  at  Dick,  before  he  said, 

"Well,  what's  on  yer  moinds?" 

They  both  began  to  tell  him  at  once — both  stopped 
to  laugh. 

"You  go  first,  Dick,"  Joan  said. 

"Well,  first,  my  uncle  will  give  the  men  credit  for  a 
week,"  Dick  began  before  he  started  off  on  his  project. 
Jean  watched  them.  The  expression  played  over 
Patsy's  mobile  Irish  face,  like  an  electric  storm.  He 
interrupted  now  and  then  with  a  terse  question.  His 
mind  concentrated  on  every  word  Dick  said. 

"Now,  you  tell  your  part,  Joan,"  Dick  urged  fi- 
nally. 

So  she  took  up  her  idea  of  the  new  site,  and  she 
painted  again  its  possibilities.  He  nodded,  sometimes 
laughed.  Dick  hurried  to  forestall  any  criticism,  as 
she  finished. 

"Isn't  that  great?" 

"If  the  railroad  spur  is  practical,  it's  all  roight,  but 


294  THE  THRESHOLD 

them  picture  card  cottages  is  hard  fer  me  to  see,  after 
the  old  shanties.  I  was  thinkin'  av  Aaron  Kovlatski 
a-settin'  on  his  stoop,  wid  the  ole  woman  an'  the  kids 
wit'  shinin'  faces  all  round  'im.  Flower  gardens  an' 
vegitibles — can  yez  see  that  picture,  Dick?" 

"It  won't  all  happen  in  a  minute,  of  course.  Joan 
knows  that — she's  going  to  teach  them  how  to  live  in 
a  new  way." 

"All  roight — cut  out  the  sob  stuff !  I'm  fer  the  idea, 
picture  card  cottages  an'  all!  It's  foine!" 

"Now,  let's  get  down  to  hard  pan.  We  haven't 
gone  over  this  stuff  for  a  long  time,  Pat.  Let's  pick 
out  the  things  we  wanted." 

They  all  went  to  work,  marking  and  sorting.  Greg- 
ory looked  in  on  them,  from  the  door,  but  they  did  not 
see  him.  He  went  away  without  interrupting  them, 
carrying  with  him  a  vision  of  their  absorption  in  their 
task. 

Finally  dinner  was  announced.  A  veritable  strug- 
gle followed,  to  induce  Patsy  to  stay.  But  in  the  end, 
they  won,  and  Dick  bore  him  off  to  his  room  to  wash 
his  hands.  The  dinner  went  off  fairly  well,  thanks 
to  their  intense  interest  in  what  they  were  discussing. 
Patsy  almost  laughed  aloud  over  the  man-servants, 
and  some  of  the  events  of  the  meal.  But  he  followed 
Dick's  lead  as  to  forks  and  such  details,  and  managed 
to  make  a  very  good  meal,  although  he  suspiciously  in- 
quired "What's  this?"  about  each  dish. 

Later  they  talked  over  the  details  of  the  plan.  Patsy 
was  full  of  practical  suggestions,  which  opened  up  new 
avenues  for  thought.  He  knew  which  of  the  men  had 
had  any  experience  in  other  trades,  he  knew  the  situa- 
tion in  the  town  in  regard  to  builders  and  carpenters. 
It  was  a  slack  season  for  them,  and  if  the  new  work 


THE  THRESHOLD  295 

could  be  got  under  way  shortly,  they  could  hire  them 
all. 

"Our  end  av  it  can  be  organized  all  roight — it's  your 
ind  I'm  leery  of!" 

"Why?" 

"If  King  Farwell  says  no  to  the  idea,  that  settles  it." 

"But  he  hasn't  said  it!"  Dick  exclaimed. 

"Believe  me — he  will  say  it.  'It's  too  big  a  risk  fer 
yer  money,  Dick';  that's  what  he'll  tell  ye.  An'  mebbe 
he's  roight,  too,"  he  added. 

"We've  got  to  make  him  see  it,  that's  all,"  Dick 
urged.  "You  both  got  to  help  me." 

"'Tis  a  lot  av  help  I'd  be  to  ye.  'An'  what's  yer 
idea,  Misther  Rafferty?'  sez  King  Farwell  to  me." 

"Don't  you  worry — he  listens  to  ideas,"  Joan  ob- 
jected. "Think  how  he's  listened  to  mine." 

Midnight  came  upon  them,  and  they  were  not  half 
talked  out. 

"Take  Patsy  off  to  bed,  Dick,"  Joan  counselled. 
"Think  of  the  years  of  talk  and  work  and  pleasure 
ahead  of  us  three,  if  this  dream  comes  true." 

Patsy  made  a  feeble  protest  at  spending  the  night, 
but  Dick  bore  him  off  triumphantly.  Calling  back 
their  goodnights  to  Joan,  they  sauntered  off  arm  in  arm. 

The  next  day  they  all  three  went  to  the  village.  The 
boys  were  to  attend  to  the  credit  for  the  men  and  their 
families;  then  they  called  on  the  contractor  and  had  a 
long  interview.  In  the  meantime,  Joan  sat  in  confer- 
ence with  Mrs.  Rafferty.  The  three  conspirators  had 
decided  that  she  was  the  only  one  to  be  taken  into  their 
councils,  until  the  scheme  was  far  enough  along  to  be 
outlined  to  the  whole  community. 

Joan  knew  she  could  rely  on  the  Irish  woman's  ex- 
perience and  her  common  sense. 


296  THE  THRESHOLD 

She  proposed  her  scheme  for  trying  to  arouse  the 
women  to  new  standards  of  living,  developing  it  at 
great  length.  The  older  woman  sat  and  listened. 

''It  listens  good,  gurl,  but  ye  know  about  the  old  dog 
an'  the  new  trick.  If  ye're  born  doin'  things  one  way 
an'  brought  up  to  do  'em  that  way,  it  ain't  so  aisy  to 
learn  the  new  ways,  even  if  they  do  tell  ye  they're  bet- 
ter!" 

"I  don't  expect  it  to  be  easy;  if  the  old  ones  can't 
learn,  the  young  ones  can.  If  we  could  get  a  kind  of 
contest  in  good  housekeeping  started,  they  would  find 
out  how  much  more  comfortable  it  is  to  live  decently." 

"Well,  ye  can  but  try.  If  ye  can  teach  them  durty 
Kovlatskis  to  live  decent,  an'  some  av  thim  other  Po- 
lacks,  I'll  believe  ye  can  do  annything!"  laughed  Mrs. 
Rafferty. 

"Will  you  help  me?     I  can't  do  it  without  you." 

"Go  on  wfi?  yer  blarney!" 

"It's  the  truth.  They  all  look  up  to  you,  and  if 
you  were  back  of  the  idea,  it  would  take." 

"Me  the  leader  av  the  house  cleanin'  brigade! 
Would  I  have  to  be  takin'  a  bath  ivry  day?" 

Joan  laughed. 

"I  s'pose  I'd  have  to  kape  wan  av  the  kids  in  the 
tub  all  day,  to  show  thim  Kovlatskis  that  it  ain't  the 
coal  bin." 

"How  would  we  go  about  getting  the  women  inter- 
ested?" 

Mrs.  Rafferty  considered  that  for  a  while. 

"If  they  got  the  place  settled  on  in  the  next  two 
months,  ye  could  start  the  wimmen  to  makin'  the  gar- 
dens. The  Polacks  is  all  good  at  that,  an'  the  EytaJ- 
ians.  Ye  could  git  the  kids  in  on  that,  too." 

"That's  a  good  idea !     Then  we  could  start  them 


THE  THRESHOLD  297 

on  the  houses  later.  If  they  see  them  grow,  from  the 
ground  up,  they  can't  help  but  be  fond  of  them,  and 
want  to  be  clean  and  nice." 

"Well,  we'll  see,"  remarked  Mrs.  Rafferty,  her  tone 
indicating  doubts. 

"You  think  about  it,  and  so  will  I.  Then  after  the 
plan  is  announced,  we'll  call  a  meeting  of  the  women 
and  all  talk  it  over.  We  can  form  clubs  for  things, 
sewing  clubs,  cooking  clubs,  garden  clubs.  Then  we 
can  get  up  children's  clubs,  too." 

"Well,  darlin',  don't  wear  yer  brains  out  until  ye 
git  King  Farwell's  answer,"  warned  Mrs.  Rafferty. 

"I  think  we're  going  to  see  the  new  village  on  the 
way  to  completion,  one  year  from  today!"  said  Joan. 

"Wait  till  ye're  an  old  settler,  loike  me,  Joan!  I've 
seen  things  go  from  bad  to  worse  fer  tin  years  in  this 
town.  Ye  got  to  show  me  how  King  Farwell  lets  Dick 
spind  anny  money  in  a  model  village  fer  us  workers." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Rafferty — nothing  stands  still — this 
thing  is  going  to  happen." 

The  boys  came  back  full  of  information  gleaned 
from  the  contractor.  He  had  told  them  about  a  young 
architect,  just  now  trying  to  get  a  start  in  the  town. 
His  name  was  Betts,  and  he  had  taken  his  training  in 
New  York.  From  the  contractor's  office  they  went  to 
see  Betts.  They  told  him  their  scheme  and  fired  his 
imagination.  They  were  to  send  him  their  material 
collected  on  the  trip,  with  their  own  ideas  indicated, 
and  he  was  to  have  a  rough  plan  drawn  up,  so  that  if 
the  scheme  went  through,  there  would  be  something 
tangible  to  show  to  the  men.  The  boys  were  wildly 
excited  about  this  latest  discovery. 

"We  want  the  town  to  do  it,"  Dick  said.  "We 
want  it  to  be  a  great  big  family  party." 


298  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Don't  count  yer  chickens  until  King  Farwell  is 
hatched,"  laughed  Mrs.  Rafferty.  "You  kids  make 
me  smile." 

Just  then  Jergens  drove  up  in  the  big  car. 

"Did  you  tell  Jergens  to  come  for  us?"  asked  Joan. 

"I  did  not,"  Dick  replied. 

Jergens  came  to  the  door. 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Babcock,  but  Mr.  Farwell  has 
come  home  and  he  wants  to  know  if  you  an'  Mr.  Dick 
will  come  out  to  the  Hall?  He  wants  to  see  you  about 
somethin'  partic'lar." 

Dick  looked  at  Joan. 

"We'd  better  go.  It  may  be  something  about  the 
money." 

They  hurried  off  with  Jergens.  Gregory  met  them 
at  the  door. 

"I  thought  I  would  better  send  for  you  two,"  he  be- 
gan at  once,  "and  let  you  know  what  I  found  out  in 
New  York." 

They  grouped  themselves  around  the  fire  in  his  den. 

"Is  it  about  the  money?"  Dick  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes.  I  went  up  to  have  a  talk  with  my  lawyers 
and  with  the  bank." 

"Can  we  do  it?"  Dick  demanded. 

"The  money  can  be  raised,  I  think,  so  far  as  that  is 
concerned,"  Gregory  began. 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  exclaimed  Dick. 

"But  nothing  can  be  done,  as  you  know,  without  my 
full  consent — " 

Dick  nodded  impatiently. 

"I  think  the  idea  of  using  the  men  to  build  the  fac- 
tory impractical — I  think  changing  the  site  is  a  mis- 
take—" 

"But—" 


THE  THRESHOLD  299 

"Let  me  finish,  Dick.  If  you  s:;;k  your  entire  patri- 
mony in  this  scheme,  what  is  to  become  of  you?" 

"Don't  you  think  I  can  earn  a  living?" 

"How?" 

"At  a  carding  machine,  if  necessary,"  hotly. 

"As  I  understand  it  you  consider  your  education 
completed,  so  far  as  college  goes?" 

"I  might  go  to  college  after  we  got  the  factory  well 
started,"  Dick  said. 

"I  should  have  to  make  that  a  stipulation,  if  I  agreed 
to  your  plan  for  rebuilding,  Dick.  If  I  let  you  risk 
your  inheritance  on  this  venture,  you  must  at  least  be 
protected  by  an  education." 

"All  right — I'd  accept  that  condition." 

"You  understand  that  it  may  beggar  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  want  him  to  take  this  risk,  Joan  ?" 

"I  cannot  advise  him  on  this,  Gregory." 

"Why  not?     It's  your  affair,  too." 

"Mine?" 

"I  don't  need  advice — I  take  full  responsibility," 
cried  Dick. 

"The  matter  is  in  your  hands,  then." 

"You  mean  it?     You'll  agree  to  my  plan?" 

"I  authorize  you  to  go  ahead." 

Dick  seized  his  hand  and  wrung  it. 

"You'll  never  be  sorry,  Uncle  Greg,"  he  promised. 
"Joan — Joan — we've  got  our  chance !" 

She  put  her  hand  in  the  one  he  stretched  out  to  her, 
but  her  eyes  were  all  for  Gregory. 

"Oh,  I'm  very  proud  of  you!"  she  said  to  him  softly. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

TIME  did  not  lag  for  Dick,  once  he  knew  that 
he  was  to  be  free  to  rebuild  the  factory.  A 
meeting  was  called  of  Mr.  Farwell's  lawyers, 
Patsy,  the  architect,  Betts,  the  contractor  and  Mr.  Far- 
well.  They  went  over  the  plan  in  detail.  Then  they 
went  to  the  new  site  Joan  had  chosen,  and  considered 
it  from  every  point  of  view.  Dick  was  determined  to 
have  it  on  that  spot,  if  it  could  be  managed,  even  if  the 
initial  expense  were  greater.  The  contractor  agreed 
with  Gregory  that  it  was  all  sentimental  bosh  about 
giving  the  workers  a  pleasant  outlook,  and  said  so. 

"You  march  up  and  down  a  day  or  so,  at  a  cot- 
ton carding  machine,  with  nothing  to  look  at,  and  you'll 
learn  a  thing  or  two,"  replied  the  boy. 

"You'll  have  'em  gawkin'  off  at  the  hills,  instead  of 
payin'  attention  to  the  job,"  the  contractor  objected. 

"Let  'em  gawk !"  retorted  Dick. 

There  were  infinite  details  to  take  up — the  practical- 
ity of  the  railroad  spur,  and  its  cost,  was  only  one. 
Two  weeks  was  consumed  in  these  preliminaries,  with 
Gregory  a  reluctant  victim  to  Dick's  enthusiasm.  The 
boy  could  neither  sleep  nor  eat,  so  consumed  was  he 
with  this  plan.  He  could  argue  against  them  all,  and 
win  them  over  often,  by  his  very  fervour  of  conviction. 
He  found  a  loyal  supporter  in  Betts,  who  was  moved 
by  enthusiasm  as  well  as  ambition.  Patsy  and  Joan 
frequently  opposed  him — Gregory  rarely  made  any 
sense  out  of  what  he  called  his  "mad  notions,"  but 
Betts  stood  by. 

300 


THE  THRESHOLD  301 

When  the  plans  had  reached  the  point  where  the 
scheme  was  assured,  Dick  proposed  to  his  uncle  and 
Joan  his  idea  of  the  way  to  break  the  news  to  the 
workers. 

"I'd  like  to  ask  them  all  up  here.  Most  of  them 
have  never  seen  the  Hall,  and  they've  been  awfully 
friendly  to  me,  while  I've  been  sick  and  all — " 

"Good  Heavens,  Dick!  You  mean  to  let  them 
track  all  over  the  house?"  protested  Gregory. 

"It  won't  hurt  the  house !  They'd  like  to  see  it,  and 
after  all,  Uncle  Greg,  they  help  pay  for  it." 

"O  Lord — am  I  to  be  fed  on  this  sort  of  talk  till  I 
die?"  moaned  Gregory. 

"If  you  feel  that  way  about  it — we  won't  discuss  it, 
of  course.  I'll  get  them  together  in  the  village,"  said 
Dick  haughtily. 

"Look  here — I've  accommodated  myself  to  your 
ideas  enough,  Dick.  I'm  not  going  to  have  that  army 
of  dirty  labourers  and  their  kids  swarming  all  over 
the  place.  Do  you  think  I'm  called  upon  to  do  that, 
Joan?" 

"Not  at  all,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it.  Dick 
and  I  look  upon  these  people  as  our  friends,  so  we 
don't  get  just  your  point  of  view  about  them." 

"Well,  go  ahead  and  have  them.  I'll  go  to  New 
York  for  a  couple  of  days  and  Craddock  can  get  the 
house  cleaned  and  fumigated  before  I  come  back,"  he 
said  shortly. 

"Much  obliged,"  said  Dick  coolly.  "Would  it  be 
convenient  for  you  to  go  on  Friday?" 

"Dick,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  accept  it,"  Joan 
protested. 

"Friday  suits  me  perfectly,"  remarked  Gregory 
with  finality. 


302  THE  THRESHOLD 

Gregory  opened  a  book,  while  the  other  two  fell  to 
discussing  the  party.  They  agreed  upon  the  refresh- 
ments and  where  they  could  be  served.  Should  they 
have  them  in  the  big  drawing-room,  or  the  hall? 

"Dick,"  exclaimed  Joan.  "I  have  it!  Let's  have 
them  in  the  garage." 

"The  garage?" 

"Yes.  Take  out  the  cars — put  chairs  in  that  great 
huge  hall,  with  refreshment  tables  in  the  room  they 
call  the  repair  shop." 

"And  not  let  them  come  into  the  house  at  all?" 

"After  all,  Dick,  they  don't  care  so  much  about  the 
house.  The  thing  is  to  be  invited  out  here.  And 
Gregory  is  right  about  dirty  feet — then,  too,  the  chil- 
dren might  break  things.  I  believe  the  garage  is  just 
the  thing." 

"Well— all  right.     I  don't  care,"  said  Dick. 

"Much  obliged,  Joan,"  remarked  Gregory. 

Dick  and  Patsy  delivered  the  invitations,  dropping 
a  hint  that  important  business  was  to  be  discussed  on 
the  occasion,  and  urging  every  one  to  come,  including 
the  children.  Wagons  and  motor  cars  would  carry 
out  the  women  and  the  youngsters,  but  the  men  would 
be  expected  to  walk.  The  hour  was  three  in  the  after- 
noon. Dick  made  it  clear  that  he  was  giving  the  party. 
When  they  asked  him  if  King  Farwell  would  be  there, 
he  said  he  did  not  know,  that  he  had  invited  him,  but 
had  had  no  answer  so  far. 

Mrs.  Rafferty  was  commandeered  to  help  get  ready 
the  day  of  the  party.  She  came  out  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, bringing  Jimmy,  in  the  big  motor  car. 

"Think  av  me  a  comin'  to  the  Hall  in  wan  av  thim 
divil  wagons!"  she  laughed. 

They  all  began  work  at  once  on  the  garage.     It  was 


THE  THRESHOLD  303 

emptied  of  its  cars,  clean  as  a  hospital  and  warm. 
Joan  and  Dick  had  cut  great  boughs  of  cedar  and 
spruce  to  hang  on  the  walls,  and  they  put  huge  jars  of 
flowers  on  the  tiny  improvised  stage.  The  town  un- 
dertaker had  supplied  the  chairs. 

Mrs.  Rafferty,  Craddock  and  Annie  set  up  the  com- 
missariat department  in  the  room  off  the  main  hall. 
Everybody  was  busy,  and  happy,  when  Gregory  looked 
in  on  them. 

"Well,  Dick,  how's  your  coming-out  party  progress- 
ing?" he  inquired. 

"Fine.     I  hope  you're  coming?" 

"I  think  not,  thanks.  Debuts  are  always  depressing 
to  me." 

He  watched  Joan  working  with  a  spruce  bough. 

"Come  and  help — "  she  called  to  him. 

"No,  I  don't  like  to  help,"  he  answered. 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  New  York,"  she 
smiled. 

"I  may.     There  is  still  time." 

Later  they  had  a  picnic  lunch,  not  to  embarrass  the 
Rafferrys.  It  was  a  happy  meal,  with  much  banter. 
Joan  was  sorry  that  Gregory  missed  it.  He  was  lunch- 
ing all  alone  in  the  big  Hall  dining-room. 

She  hurried  off  for  a  little  rest,  and  a  chance  to  dress 
after  the  picnic.  About  two  o'clock  the  first  guests 
began  to  arrive.  The  men  were  starting  early  evi- 
dently. Dick  and  the  Raffertys  were  there  to  receive 
them,  so  Joan  took  her  own  time.  A  little  after  three 
she  went  downstairs.  Gregory  stood  in  the  hall  win- 
dow, watching  the  procession  of  arrivals. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  Gregory?" 

"Must  I?"  he  asked  her. 

"Only  if  you  want  to." 


304  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Farwell  is  certainly  coming  up  the  hill,  just  as  you 
said  it  would,"  he  commented. 

"Are  you  sorry?" 

"I  suppose  so.  I  don't  want  them  here.  They 
don't  belong  here." 

She  sighed. 

"Come  out  and  hear  Dick's  speech,  Gregory,"  she 
urged  him. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  come?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  will." 

She  smiled  and  went  out  to  the  garage.  The  work- 
ers were  all  there.  Men  in  their  Sunday  clothes, 
women  in  their  best,  the  children  painfully  clean. 
They  were  all  self-conscious  and  miserable.  Joan 
hurled  herself  upon  the  task  of  making  them  comfort- 
able. All  the  men  were  in  one  corner,  the  women  in 
the  other.  Stupid  looking,  stolid  folk,  they  were. 
This  was  the  stuff  for  Dick's  experiment.  How  dread- 
ful it  would  be  if  they  failed  him!  What  if  this 
scheme,  with  its  cargo  of  high  hopes,  should  go  on  the 
rocks?  Suppose  the  workers  were  not  ready?  She 
caught  herself  up  short.  Was  she,  Joan  Babcock,  con- 
cerned with  Dick's  happiness,  or  with  new  opportuni- 
ties for  her  people? 

She  started  the  children  at  games,  and  got  Mrs. 
Rafferty  to  help  her  with  the  women.  They  thawed 
a  little  under  their  combined  efforts.  Presently  Mr. 
Betts  and  the  contractor  arrived.  He  carried  a  huge 
roll  of  papers  and  the  contractor  bore  a  leather  bag. 
After  they  were  greeted  and  passed  around  among 
the  men,  Dick  and  Patsy  marshaled  them  into  the 
chairs. 

They  were  all  excited,  you  could  see  by  their  expres- 


THE  THRESHOLD  305 

sions.  You  knew  the  mothers  were  nervous  because 
they  cuffed  the  children  for  the  least  thing.  Dick 
stood  up  on  the  platform  and  faced  them  all.  The 
room  was  Tery  full.  The  house  servants  were  at  the 
doors,  and  Joan  thought  she  saw  Gregory  come  in  a 
rear  door.  But  she  forgot  everything  when  Dick  be- 
gan to  speak. 

"People — I've  asked  you  all  to  come  up  here  to 
talk  over  a  plan  I've  got  to  rebuild  the  factory.  I 
know  you  are  all  my  friends,  because  you  were  good  to 
me,  when  I  was  sick  at  the  Raffertys'.  I  hope  you 
know  that  I'm  your  friend — " 

"Sure!     We  do!"  they  answered  him,  in  a  shout. 

"I  don't  want  to  make  a  speech — because  I  can't 
and  besides  there's  so  much  business  for  us  to  talk 
over  that  there  isn't  time.  But  I  want  to  say  this.  I 
never  would  have  known  anything  about  the  factory, 
or  about  you  workers,  or  how  you  lived  or  anything, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Miss  Joan  Babcock.  She  taught 
me  something  about  industrial  problems  that  set  me 
to  thinking." 

"Hurrah  for  Miss  Babcock!"  shouted  Patsy,  and 
they  all  joined  him. 

"Then  she  introduced  me  to  the  Raffertys,  and  that 
settled  it." 

"Three  cheers  for  the  Raffertys!"  yelled  the  men, 
whereupon  Patsy  dragged  his  mother  to  her  feet  and 
they  bowed,  to  the  tune  of  much  laughter. 

"They  are  the  finest  people  in  the  world,  the  best 
friends  a  fellow  could  have,"  Dick  went  on.  "They 
taught  me  more  about  the  workers'  needs.  Then  you 
know  how  I  took  a  job  in  the  factory — " 

"Sure  we  know — " 

"I  want  to  say  right  here,  that  my  uncle  did  not  ap- 


306  THE  THRESHOLD 

prove  of  that,  but  he  let  me  do  it,  on  the  promise  that 
I  would  not  stir  up  trouble — " 

A  laugh  greeted  this. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  laugh.  But  since  I  broke  my 
word  to  him,  he  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  take  away 
the  job." 

"Aw—" 

"No — don't  interrupt.  You  all  know  what  hap- 
pened later.  I  lost  my  head,  when  the  militia  shot  at 
us,  and  burned  down  the  factory.  I  didn't  have  a  very 
clear  idea  of  what  I  was  doing,  but  I'm  afraid  I  wanted 
to  get  even  with  my  uncle  for  calling  out  the  troops — " 

"And  right  you  were,  too." 

"But  he  didn't  call  out  the  troops." 

"Who  did,  then?"  shouted  Grady. 

"Ben  Card.  He  had  sent  word  to  the  Governor  the 
day  before,  that  there  was  trouble  here,  and  he  tele- 
graphed him  finally,  without  ever  asking  my  uncle 
about  it." 

A  buzz  and  hum  of  comment  followed  that. 

"So  you  see,  I  was  all  wrong  in  what  I  said  that  day 
at  the  trial,  and  I  want  to  square  it.  If  you  fellows 
had  done  anything  to  my  uncle  that  night,  because  of 
what  I  said,  it  would  have  been  awful !"  he  added  se- 
riously. 

"Well — we  didn't,"  said  somebody. 

"No,  you  didn't.  Ever  since  that  night  I've  been 
trying  to  think  how  I  could  fix  up  some  of  the  trouble 
I  started,  and  I've  got  a  way  now,  and  that's  why 
you're  all  here. 

"We're  going  to  put  up  the  new  plant  half  a  mile 
out  of  town,  in  a  place  picked  out  by  Miss  Babcock. 
She  wants  you  to  have  sun  and  fresh  air  and  green 
country — " 


THE  THRESHOLD  307 

He  paused  for  some  applause  for  Joan,  but  his  au- 
dience was  too  absorbed  now  for  any  manners. 

"We're  going  to  build  the  most  up-to-date  factory 
in  this  country,  on  that  spot,  and  the  new  cottages  will 
be  on  the  hills  around  it — " 

A  great  shout  went  up  at  that.  Mr.  Betts  jumped 
up  on  the  platform  beside  Dick,  tearing  the  paper  off 
a  packet.  He  held  up  a  watercolour  of  the  factory, 
with  the  hills  beyond.  Dick  was  completely  taken  by 
surprise.  He  had  no  idea  that  Betts  would  work  day 
and  night  to  have  this  ready. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  and  again,  with  a  choke  in  his  throat 
—"Oh !" 

He  held  it  and  gazed  at  it — then  his  eyes  flew  to 
Joan — it  was  her  dream,  too.  She  smiled  back  at  him. 
He  held  the  picture  up  so  they  all  could  see  it,  and 
they  sprang  up  and  crowded  forward  to  get  a  better 
look. 

"This  is  the  type  of  cottage,"  called  Betts,  holding 
up  another  watercolour.  It  showed  a  simple  type  of 
house,  English  cottage  architecture,  set  in  its  own  gar- 
den. They  exclaimed  and  clapped  their  hands  at  that. 

"They'll  be  called  the  Babcock  Cottages,"  cried 
Dick,  and  they  went  off  again  in  applause,  and  cheers. 

"Sit  down  now — and  Mr.  Betts  will  show  you  a  big 
chart  of  the  whole  thing." 

Betts  hung  up  his  map  and  explained  it  carefully. 
You  could  have  heard  a  whisper,  they  were  so  silent. 

"Do  you  get  the  idea  ?"  Betts  asked. 

"Sure!"  they  answered. 

"How  long  will  it  take  to  build?"  asked  one  man. 

"A  year  or  more,"  replied  Betts. 

"Hell — how  can  we  live?"  exclaimed  another,  so 
absorbed  that  he  did  not  know  he  swore. 


3o8  THE  THRESHOLD 

"That's  the  next  step,"  said  Dick.  "You're  going 
to  build  it." 

They  stared  at  him  and  waited. 

"I  want  you  to  build  a  factory  with  me,  and  run  it 
with  me.  I  can't  afford  to  keep  you  all  here,  idle  until 
the  shops  and  cottages  are  finished,  so  I'm  going  to 
hire  you  to  build  it. 

"Hold  on,  Dick,  we  ain't  no  buildin'  trades." 

"I  know,  but  Jim  Doherty  here  has  been  a  con- 
tractor a  good  many  years,  and  he's  got  a  plan  to  use 
every  one  of  you  boys.  First  we  are  going  to  haul 
native  stone  for  the  foundations.  We've  got  all  the 
labour  in  the  town  hired,  and  we  want  to  begin  at 
once — " 

"Is  King  Farwell  payin'  the  bills?" 

"No — I  am.  He  is  letting  me  use  every  cent  I 
would  inherit  at  twenty-one,  to  try  out  this  experiment. 
You  fellows  and  you  women  have  got  to  help  me  make 
it  go." 

They  shouted  some  more  at  that.  Patsy  stepped 
up  beside  Dick. 

"I  ain't  chosen  no  spokesman  fer  this  occasion,  so 
far  as  I  know,  but  I  jest  appoint  myself  a  committee 
av  one  to  tell  Dick  that  if  this  here  plan  av  his  fails 
it  ain't  goin'  to  be  because  the  men  an'  wimmen  av  the 
Farwell  factory  didn't  do  their  part." 

They  agreed  with  him  vociferously. 

"Dick  is  offerin'  us  the  chanct  av  our  lives,  an'  we're 
goin'  to  make  good  fer  him  jest  to  show  him  an'  Mr. 
Farwell  what  we  can  do.  He's  the  best  little  feller 
ever,  an'  we  know  it." 

The  applause  was  deafening. 

"Much  obliged.  Now  I  think  Miss  Babcock  ought 
to  say  a  word  to  the  women  workers." 


THE  THRESHOLD  309 

They  clapped  and  called  for  Joan,  who  came  to  the 
platform  smiling,  to  receive  an  ovation. 

"Comrades — this  is  a  great  occasion  to  me.  I  think 
when  employers  and  employes  get  to  be  friends,  with 
a  common  interest,  as  you  and  I  and  Dick  are  friends, 
there  will  be  an  end  to  most  of  our  industrial  problems. 
I  just  want  to  say  to  the  women  that  while  the  men 
are  busy  putting  up  the  buildings,  there  will  be  much 
for  us  to  do.  We  thought  that  while  the  men  haul 
stones,  we  would  begin  the  gardens.  If  we  get  them 
planted  this  spring,  they  ought  to  be  in  good  condition 
next  spring,  when  we've  all  moved  into  the  new  houses." 

This  suggestion  was  enthusiastically  greeted  by  the 
women. 

"Mrs.  Rafferty  has  more  ideas  than  I  have  about 
our  part  of  the  work.  Maybe  she  will  tell  us  some  of 
them." 

Loud  shouts  arose  from  all  sides  for  Mrs.  Rafterty, 
and  she  stepped  forth,  shaking  her  fist  at  Joan. 

"Neighbours,"  she  began,  "I'm  an  awful  talker,  but 
no  spache  maker.  I  think  it  was  a  graat  day  fer  us 
in  Farwell  when  Dick  and  Joan  came  down  there  an' 
got  acquainted  with  us.  We  been  thro'  a  lot  of  trou- 
ble togither  since  thin,  an'  we're  moighty  glad  to  be 
lookin'  ahead  to  good  days. 

"It'll  be  an  awful  change  from  thim  shanties  to  the 
new  cottages,  an'  I  hope  none  av  us'll  die  from  ut. 
An'  if  they  won't  make  'em  too  iligint,  we'll  try  to  live 
up  to  'em — ain't  that  the  truth?" 

They  laughed  and  applauded  her.  As  she  sat  down, 
Dick  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Farwell. 

"Hi,  there,  Uncle  Greg,"  he  called— "we'd  like  to 
hear  from  you !" 

Gregory  frowned,  as  they  all  turned  startled  faces 


310  THE  THRESHOLD 

toward  him.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
stepped  up  before  them. 

"My  nephew  has  a  passion  for  playing  impresario, 
it  seems.  I  haven't  anything  to  say.  I  think  this 
whole  idea  is  ridiculous,  but  if  he  wants  to  risk  every 
cent  he  has  in  the  world  on  you,  why  I'm  not  going  to 
stop  him.  But  if  he  loses  everything  it  will  be  up  to 
you  to  take  care  of  him,  because  I  don't  propose  to. 

"I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  time  building  your  fac- 
tory and  I  hope  you'll  hurry  up  with  it,  because  I  shall 
have  to  hear  about  it  every  day  of  my  life  until  it's 
finished." 

He  smiled  at  their  puzzled  faces  and  perfunctory 
applause.  He  stopped  to  say  a  word  to  Mrs.  Rafferty 
as  he  went  out. 

After  that  Doherty  made  a  speech — Betts  explained 
the  plans  again,  in  answer  to  questions.  They  all 
crowded  up  to  handle  the  sketches,  and  discuss  this 
astounding  news.  There  was  a  perfect  babel  of 
tongues,  a  roar  of  talk.  Ideas  come  to  them  slowly 
and  they  had  to  be  told  over  and  over  again  the  sim- 
ple outline  of  the  project. 

The  women  hovered  over  the  picture  of  the  dwell- 
ing house  in  awed  admiration.  Joan  tried  to  explain 
the  ground  floor  plan  to  them,  but  that  was  entirely 
beyond  them.  Besides  they  were  satisfied  to  look  at 
the  porch  and  the  tiny  gardens. 

About  five  o'clock  the  refreshments  were  brought 
and  they  all  grew  embarrassed  again,  but  after  the 
servants  had  gone,  they  fell  to  talking,  and  consuming 
the  sandwiches,  coffee  and  ice  cream. 

It  was  not  until  six  o'clock  that  they  moved  to  de- 
part. The  wagons  and  motors  were  filled  first  with 
a  cheering,  happy  throng,  waving  hands  and  throwing 


THE  THRESHOLD  311 

kisses.  Then  the  men  gave  three  times  three  cheers 
for  everybody,  and  marched  off  down  the  road  singing. 
The  garage  was  empty  except  for  Dick  and  Joan,  who 
stood  watching  them  go. 

"That's  the  beginning  of  the  new  era,  Dick.  There 
goes  our  happy  family." 

He  laid  his  arm  across  her  shoulders. 

"I've  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life,"  he  said  sim- 
ply. "I'm  so  glad  I  owe  it  all  to  you,  Joan." 

"Dear  boy,  you  owe  it  to  your  own  fine  self,"  she 
corrected  him. 

"Aren't  you  ever  going  to  let  me  tell  you  how  I  love 
you,  Joan?"  he  asked  her. 

A  look  of  distress  crossed  her  face  and  he  saw  it. 

"Is  it  so  hopeless  for  me  that  you  don't  want  me  to 
say  it,  dear?" 

She  faced  him  squarely  at  that. 

"Dick,  my  dear,  dear  Dick,  there  must  not  anything 
come  between  us  to  spoil  our  feeling  for  each  other." 

"Joan — I  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"Dick,  you  are  seventeen  and  I  am  twenty-three." 

"I  don't  care  what  your  age  is — you  are  just  my 
whole  life." 

"You  must  be  as  free  as  air  to  build  Farwell,  to  go 
through  college,  to  lay  all  your  foundation  stones." 

"Couldn't  you  wait  for  me,  Joan?" 

"Dick,  when  you're  through  college,  I'll  be  nearly 
thirty — almost  an  old  woman." 

"What's  the  difference?     I  don't  care,  I  tell  you." 

"You're  a  dear!" 

"You  don't  love  me,  do  you?" 

"Not  the  way  you  want  me  to,  Dick." 

"I  knew  it — it's  Uncle  Gregory  you  love.  I  saw  it 
that  night  you  made  me  come  back,"  he  cried. 


312  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Dick,  that  isn't  fair!" 

He  flung  out  the  door  and  away.  She  laid  her 
crossed  arms  on  the  back  of  a  tall  chair,  and  dropped 
her  face  on  them.  She  had  tried  so  hard  to  keep  this 
crisis  in  check.  Dear  loving  boy,  how  was  she  to  help 
him  now?  Was  her  work  here  finished?  Should  she 
pack  up  and  move  on? 

She  scarcely  started  when  Gregory  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder. 

"Joan — Joan,  dear,"  he  said  gently.  She  lifted  her 
wet  eyes  to  his  face. 

"I  came  out  to  see  if  the  party  was  over — I  entered 
through  the  little  room — I  think  you  did  not  hear 
me—" 

"Yes?" 

"I — couldn't  help  it — I  heard  what  Dick  said.  Oh, 
Joan,  is  it  true?" 

He  had  heard!  He  was  sorry  for  her.  He 
thought  she  expected  him  to —  She  forced  herself  to 
smile. 

"Poor  Dick,  he  was  excited — not  himself,"  she 
evaded. 

"Joan,  was  it  true?"  he  repeated. 

She  forced  herself  to  look  him  steadily  in  the  eyes. 
She  would  not  see  the  tenderness  expressed  there — it 
must  be  his  pity. 

"Is  it  true?"  he  said  again,  softly. 

"No,  Gregory,  no — it  was  not  true,"  she  said  firmly, 
finally.  Then  she,  too,  ran  out  the  door,  and  away, 
as  Dick  had  done. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

JOAN  fled  to  her  own  room,  after  her  decisive  talk 
with  Gregory,  in  the  garage.  She  was  trembling 
all  over  with  excitement.  She  locked  her  door,  on 
some  absurd  impulse,  as  if  the  physical  act  helped  her 
to  bar  him  out  of  her  thoughts. 

She  went  and  sat  down  by  the  window,  where  she 
had  sat  that  first  spring  morning  of  her  life  at  the 
Hall,  nearly  a  year  ago.  On  that  occasion  she  had 
taken  stock  of  her  ideas,  faced  the  compromise  she 
must  make  between  her  ambitions  and  her  contem- 
plated mode  of  life,  in  this  house.  She  remembered 
what  a  sunny  morning  it  had  been,  how  gay  and  lovely 
the  garden  was — how  young  and  undaunted  she  felt. 
Today  the  bare  garden  held  no  promise,  she  had  spent 
many  months  of  storm  and  stress  here,  and  she  felt  old 
and  a  little  tired. 

That  she  had  fired  Dick  to  do  his  work,  she  knew  to 
be  the  truth.  She  had  confidence  that  he  would  do  it 
well,  that  he  could  do  it  without  her.  The  breach 
which  she  felt  guilty  for,  between  the  two  men,  seemed 
about  to  be  closed.  There  was  no  more  real  need  for 
her  here. 

Her  cheeks  burned  at  the  memory  of  Gregory's  chal- 
lenge. He  had  been  generous,  taken  her  back  into  the 
circle  because  of  Dick.  He  knew  that  Dick  would 
never  come  back  without  her.  And  then  that  he  should 
overhear  those  words,  that  he  should  misunderstand. 

313 


3i4  THE  THRESHOLD 

Did  he  think  that  she  had  tricked  Dick,  by  a  pretended 
love,  to  get  him  back?  Did  he  feel  that  she  must  be 
rewarded,  in  such  a  case?  Oh,  it  was  unbearable,  the 
whole  situation!  She  must  go  away,  and  find  a  new 
job.  That  was  the  only  solution. 

A  striking  clock  warned  her  that  it  was  near  the 
dinner  hour.  She  came  out  of  her  revery,  to  cross 
to  the  'phone  and  say  she  would  not  come  down  to  din- 
ner. Then  she  changed  her  mind.  She  telephoned 
Jake  in  the  village  to  be  at  the  Hall  gate  at  nine-thirty 
to  drive  her  to  the  10:40  train. 

She  began  to  dress  hurriedly.  She  put  on  the  dinner 
gown  which  she  had  acquired  for  the  New  York  party 
— because  both  her  men  admired  it.  She  took  more 
than  the  usual  pains  with  her  appearance.  If  this  was 
to  be  her  last  dinner  with  them,  she  would  look  her 
best.  She  wound  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  a  won- 
derful green  scarf  which  Dick  had  given  her,  and  hur- 
ried downstairs,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  eyes  shining 
with  excitement. 

The  men  were  in  Gregory's  den,  and  dinner  was  an- 
nounced, simultaneously  with  Joan's  appearance. 

"Joan — you're  wonderful !"  exclaimed  Dick  softly. 

"Thank  you,  Dick,"  she  answered  tenderly. 

Gregory's  eyes  appraised  her  with  a  pang.  How 
could  he  hope  that  this  glowing  young  creature  could 
find  happiness  with  him?  Dick,  young  as  he  was, 
would  come  nearer  satisfying  her. 

"Are  we  dining,  or  are  we  not?"  she  demanded 
gaily. 

Gregory  bowed  gravely  and  offered  an  arm.  She 
took  it,  and  laid  the  other  hand  on  Dick's  sleeve. 

"I  always  feel  like  a  great  lady,  when  I  am  formally 
led  to  dinner,"  she  continued.  "It  is  a  hang-over 


THE  THRESHOLD  315 

from  my  factory  days  when  I  read  how  'Lord  Ronald 
offered  his  arm  to  Lady  Clare,  who  leaned  upon  it,  and 
thus  they  entered  the  vast  baronial  dining-hall  of  the 
Castle.'  " 

She  chattered  along  until  they  were  seated  at  the 
table.  Then  she  described  some  amusing  incidents  of 
the  afternoon,  which  made  them  laugh.  She  formally 
congratulated  Dick  upon  the  success  of  his  party.  She 
appealed  to  Gregory  for  his  opinion. 

"It  seemed  to  me  a  most  successful  'at  home.'  I 
felt  my  own  remarks  to  be  the  only  blot  upon  the  occa- 
sion." 

"Oh,  I  thought  that  was  a  good  speech.  It  was 
frank  and — like  you,"  Joan  said.  "Wasn't  it,  Dick?" 

"It  was  all  right,"  Dick  granted. 

"Much  obliged,  by  the  way,  for  setting  me  straight 
with  them  on  the  militia  business,"  his  uncle  remarked. 

Dick  nodded  acknowledgment  without  any  reply. 
Whereupon  Joan  captured  the  conversation  again,  and 
made  them  respond  to  her  leads.  She  laughed,  she 
teased  them,  she  scolded  them,  and  in  due  time  she  led 
them  to  the  library  for  their  coffee  and  cigarettes. 
They  were  both  of  them  a  trifle  dazed  by  her  perform- 
ance. She  was  usually  comfortable,  but  tonight  she 
was  different.  She  was  brilliant,  tantalizing.  Dick 
gave  her  back  as  good  as  she  gave,  but  he  was  miser- 
able, under  it  all.  Gregory  could  not  understand  at 
all.  She  had  never  used  her  wiles  upon  them,  but  it 
almost  seemed  tonight  as  if  she  were  deliberately  co- 
quetting with  them.  She  had  been  offered  the  boy's 
love  and  his — she  had  refused  both — then  why  these 
provocative  fireworks? 

At  nine  o'clock  Joan  suddenly  rose.  She  said  she 
was  tired  and  would  go  tc  her  room.  They  protested, 


316  THE  THRESHOLD 

but  she  did  not  listen.  She  gave  them  each  her  hand 
as  she  said  good  night,  and  she  blew  them  a  kiss,  as 
they  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  watching  her  go. 

If  they  might  have  seen  how  old  and  worn  and  sad 
she  looked  as  she  took  off  the  white  gown  and  got  into 
her  street  clothes,  they  might  have  understood  some- 
thing of  the  strain  that  evening  had  put  on  her. 

When  she  was  ready  to  go,  she  made  a  tour  of  in- 
spection of  her  room,  as  she  had  done  that  first  day. 
Then  she  took  up  her  little  bag,  tip-toed  to  the  stairs 
and  listened.  She  could  hear  their  voices  below.  She 
crept  downstairs  quickly,  let  herself  out  the  door  and 
hurried  to  the  gate  where  Jake  was  waiting. 

"Ain't  none  of  them  motor  cars  a-runnin'?"  he 
asked,  as  she  stepped  into  the  buggy.  "What  do  you 
go  rootin'  me  out  of  my  bed  this  time  o'  night  fer?" 

"Why,  Jake,  it  isn't  late,"  she  protested,  and  en- 
gaged him  in  conversation  until  they  got  to  the  train. 

In  New  York  she  went  to  the  little  out-of-the-way 
hotel,  where  she  had  stayed  on  her  first  arrival  in  the 
city.  The  clerk  greeted  her  like  an  old  friend.  When 
she  got  to  her  room  she  made  herself  comfortable  and 
wrote  a  note  to  Gregory: 

I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  come  to  New  York,  so  I  ran 
away.  Don't  be  anxious  about  me,  I  am  to  be  with  a  friend. 
I  am  very  tired  after  the  excitements  of  the  village,  and  I 
want  to  think  about  myself  for  a  little  while. 

Thank  you  for  everything.  JOAN  BABCOCK. 

She  wrote  it  several  times  before  she  let  it  go.  Then 
she  sent  a  line  to  Dick : 

DICK  DEAR  : — I've  come  off  for  a  little  vacation.  I'm  tired. 
Go  ahead  with  Farwell — Mrs.  Rafferty  will  take  my  place  for 


THE  THRESHOLD  317 

awhile.     I  never  had  a  brother,  Dick — I  never  could  have  had 
a  brother,  as  dear  to  me  as  you  are ! 

Affectionately, 

JOAN. 

To  Mrs.  Rafferty  she  wrote  that  she  was  to  be  away 
for  awhile  and  made  several  suggestions  as  to  the  or- 
ganizing of  the  women  for  their  work  in  the  new  Far- 
well.  She  sent  loving  remembrances  to  them  all. 

When  they  were  sealed  and  posted,  she  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  relief.  She  threw  up  her  window  and  leaned 
out  over  the  great  city  of  lights.  The  early  morning 
air  was  raw,  but  she  breathed  it  in,  felt  it  on  her  head 
and  neck  with  pleasure.  Then  she  went  to  bed  and 
slept  like  a  boy  in  baseball  season. 

The  next  morning  at  eleven  she  was  admitted  to  the 
private  office  of  the  manager  of  the  Professional  Wom- 
en's Bureau. 

"Joan  Babcock!"  exclaimed  Miss  Earl,  rising  ta 
hold  out  her  hand.  "How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  1" 

Joan  gripped  her  hand  so  that  the  other  woman 
winced. 

"It's  good  to  see  you,  Miss  Earl,"  she  said  heartily. 

"What  brings  you  to  town?" 

"I  want  a  job." 

"A  job?     You  are  through  at  Farwell?" 

"Yes — I  think  I  am  through  at  Farwell,"  she  ad- 
mitted. 

Miss  Earl  appraised  the  serious  face  opposite  her. 
The  girl  looked  older,  a  trifle  worn. 

"It  was  a  painful  experience  I  gathered  from  the  last 
letters — " 

"It  had  both  pain  and  pleasure,"  Joan  answered. 

"I  was  afraid  that  it  was  too  quiet  and  conventional 


3i8  THE  THRESHOLD 

a  background  for  you — but  you  seemed  to  make  it 
rather  otherwise,"  Miss  Earl  smiled. 

"It  isn't  a  year  yet,  Miss  Earl,  since  I  went  to  the 
Hall  and  yet  I  feel  that  my  whole  life  has  been  packed 
into  these  months,  so  much  has  happened — within  and 
without,"  Joan  exclaimed. 

"I'm  not  quite  up  to  date  on  it,  you  know,"  Miss 
Earl  reminded  her. 

Joan  went  over  the  last  chapters  of  the  story  of  the 
strike,  Dick's  part  in  the  final  act  of  destruction.  She 
described  the  trial,  the  boy's  outbreak  against  the  whole 
economic  system,  with  Gregory  as  its  protagonist.  She 
told  how  the  strikers  plotted  to  kill  Gregory,  or  burn 
the  Hall,  or  do  some  sort  of  damage,  the  night  after 
the  trial,  how  she  and  Dick  had  gone  to  the  rescue. 
She  outlined  the  plan  to  rebuild  Farwell,  she  told  about 
the  party  for  the  strikers. 

She  put  her  own  picturesque  self  into  the  recital  and 
to  Miss  Earl  it  was  like  a  drama,  or  a  moving  picture 
unrolling  itself  before  her.  She  took  in  all  that  was 
said,  much  that  was  unsaid.  She  read  at  once  Joan's 
reason  for  dragging  Dick  to  his  uncle's  rescue,  although 
no  hint  of  it  was  spoken. 

"And  so  you  feel  that  your  work  there  is  finished?" 

"I  feel  that  Dick  can  go  on  now,  without  me." 

"And  Mr.  Farwell?" 

"I  was  never  so  essential  to  Mr.  Farwell  as  I  was 
to  Dick,"  she  evaded. 

"How  did  they  feel  about  your  coming  away  so  sud- 
denly?" 

"I — didn't  tell  them,  at  least,  they  know  now.  I 
wrote  them  last  night  after  I  arrived." 

"You  ran  away?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  319 

"Yet.'1 

"But  why?" 

"Because—" 

She  stopped,  her  troubled  eyes  fixed  on  Miss  Earl. 

"Don't  tell  me  a  word  that  you  may  regret,"  that 
woman  said  quickly. 

"I  do  want  to  tell  you — only  it  is  not  easy.  You  see, 
at  the  last  something  happened  that  I  did  not  want  to 
happen.  I  had  been  preventing  it  for  months — " 

"Dick  fell  in  love  with  you,"  remarked  Miss  Earl 
casually. 

"How  did  you  know?"  questioned  Joan. 

"Well,  it  seems  the  most  probable  thing,  after  the 
crises  you  had  faced  together.  You  are  not  unattrac- 
tive, as  I  suppose  you  know." 

"And  Dick  is  so  very  young,"  Joan  completed  the 
sentence.  "Young  lads  are  so  liable  to  fall  in  love 
with  older  girls — I  suppose  it  was  inevitable,"  she 
sighed. 

"You  say  you  tried  to  stop  it?" 

"Yes — I  realized  the  danger  months  ago.  The  boy 
was  lonely,  and  I  brought  him  companionship.  He 
was  idle  and  I  brought  him  work  that  he  liked.  I  was 
the  first  woman  he  had  ever  known  well,  and  as  you 
say,  we  went  literally  through  fire  and  water  together." 

"How  big  a  difference  is  there  in  your  ages?" 

"Six  years." 

"Couldn't  it  be  spanned?" 

"I  don't  love  him,"  Joan  said.  "He  is  the  dearest 
boy  in  the  world,  but  it  is  ridiculous  to  dream  of  my 
marrying  him." 

"Poor  Dick!"  said  Miss  Earl.  "I  thought  he  was 
a  delightful  boy." 


320  THE  THRESHOLD 

"He  is." 

"Why  didn't  you  marry  Mr.  Farwell?"  inquired  the 
naughty  Miss  Earl. 

"The  humble  factory  girl,  marrying  the  rich  Earl 
of  the  Hall,  like  they  do  in  books,"  said  Joan,  with 
slightly  forced  laughter.  "One  reason,  dear  Miss 
Earl,  was  that  he  didn't  ask  me  !" 

"Hm !  You  did  run  away !  And  what  do  you  in- 
tend to  do  now?"  she  added. 

"I  think  I'd  better  be  getting  at  my  regular  job, 
don't  you?  I  want  to  organize  women  workers — I've 
seen  the  need  of  it  so  plainly  in  Farwell.  It's  the  only 
way  for  us  to  get  on." 

"All  right.  I  can  put  you  in  touch  with  several 
women  connected  with  trades  unions." 

Miss  Earl  went  to  the  filing  cabinet  and  came  back 
with  a  drawer. 

"I  wonder  if  you  will  pull  out  a  card  this  time,  that 
is  to  change  my  whole  life,  as  that  other  one  did," 
Joan  said. 

"I  suppose  every  card  in  this  drawer  may  change 
somebody's  life,"  Miss  Earl  replied. 

"Yet  you  handle  them  as  if  they  were  just  cards." 

"They  are,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Earl  quietly. 
"Fortunately,  I'm  not  encumbered  with  too  much  imagi- 
nation. If  I  dramatized  my  work  sufficiently  I  might 
lose  my  courage  to  go  on,  changing  people's  lives,  mix- 
ing them  up,  like  a  busy  old  Fate." 

When  Joan  left  the  office  to  go  and  call  on  a  Trades 
Union  organizer,  she  left  her  address  with  Miss  Earl 
and  promised  to  have  dinner  with  her  on  the  following 
night. 

Miss  Earl  gave  herself  over  to  thought  for  several 
moments  after  Joan  left.  She  diagnosed  the  situation 


THE  THRESHOLD  321 

pretty  accurately,  too.  It  was  therefore  no  great  sur- 
prise to  her  when  Gregory  Farvrell  presented  himself 
at  her  office  the  next  day. 

"Miss  Earl,  I  trust  you  have  not  forgotten  me,"  he 
said  on  entering. 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Farwell.  How  is  your  nephew, 
Mr.  Norton?" 

"He's  well.  Has  Miss  Babcock  been  here  to  see 
you,  Miss  Earl?"  he  inquired  anxiously. 

"I  understand  that  Miss  Babcock  has  left  your  em- 
ploy," she  evaded. 

"She  told  you  that?  Oh,  I  was  afraid  that  was  what 
she  meant,"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  think  Miss  Babcock  feels  that  she  has  finished  her 
work  at  Farwell.  She  wishes  not  to  outstay  her  use- 
fulness." 

"Her  usefulness!  Miss  Earl,  I  must  see  her  and 
have  a  talk  with  her.  It  is  not  fair  to  any  of  us  for 
her  to  go  away  like  this — "  he  said  earnestly. 

"I  am  not  free  to  tell  you  where  she  is,  Mr.  Farwell, 
without  her  permission." 

"Then  call  her  up  and  get  her  permission.  I  must 
see  her,  Miss  Earl,"  he  said  brusquely. 

She  hesitated  a  second — then  went  to  the  outer  office 
and  told  the  operator  to  call  Joan  for  her.  While  she 
waited  she  tried  to  chat  with  Gregory,  but  he  was  too 
impatient  to  disguise  his  anxiety.  Presently  the  'phone 
rang. 

"Joan — this  is  Miss  Earl.  Mr.  Farwell  is  here  in 
my  office.  He  is  most  anxious  to  see  you.  I  will  not 
give  him  your  address  unless  you  say  I  may." 

She  listened,  then  turned  to  Gregory. 

"She  says  she  wants  a  little  more  time,  that  she  will 
will  see  you  some  day  later — " 


322  THE  THRESHOLD 

He  quietly  took  the  'phone  out  of  her  hand. 

"Joan — it  must  be  today.  It  isn't  like  you  to 
be  unfair — to — to  hurt  your  friends,"  he  said 
gravely.  .  .  . 

"I  will  be  there  in  five  minutes,"  he  replied. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Earl,"  he  said  briefly,  and  was 
gone  before  she  could  answer. 

The  Bureau  was  looking  up  as  a  matrimonial  agency, 
was  her  inner  comment. 

Meantime  Gregory  made  his  way  to  Joan's  hotel. 
He  urged  the  taxi  driver  to  top  speed.  It  was  only 
about  fifteen  minutes  later  that  he  went  into  a  queer, 
stuffy  hotel  parlour  to  find  her  waiting  for  him.  For- 
tunately it  was  empty.  He  took  her  hands. 

"Joan— why?" 

"Oh,  Gregory — why  didn't  you  let  me  have  a  little 
time  to  think?" 

"Miss  Earl  says  you  are  looking  for  a  new  position." 

"She  should  not  have  told  you  that." 

"I  can't  let  you  do  that — dear." 

"Gregory — let's  sit  down  on  this  ugly,  hard  sofa, 
and  be  very  sensible." 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  sensible.  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  how  much  I  love  you — how  necessary  you  are  to 
me,  like  the  air  I  breathe — how  desperate  I  was  at  the 
thought  of  losing  you." 

"Gregory,"  she  began  faintly. 

"Why  did  you  run  away?"  he  demanded. 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  be  sorry  for  me — to  be 
chivalrous — isn't  that  the  word?" 

"Sorry  for  you  ?  How  could  I  be,  when  I  adore  you. 
Oh,  Joan — Joan — What  you  have  done  to  me !"  he  said 
earnestly.  "Can  you  give  me  your  love,  my  dear?" 


THE  THRESHOLD  323 

"Gregory,  you  aren't  being  influenced  by  what  you 
heard  Dick  say?" 

"I  am  only  influenced  by  what  you  said  to  Dick." 

She  questioned  that. 

"I  did  not  tell  you  all  this  when  you  came  back  to 
the  Hall,  because  Dick  admitted  to  me  that  he  loved 
you,  and  I  wanted  the  boy  to  have  his  chance." 

"Dear  old  Dick." 

"You  made  us  both  suffer  that  night  you  ran  away." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to.  But  it  was  so  hard  not  to 
break  down  and  cry.  I  meant  it  to  be  my  last  dinner  at 
the  Hall." 

"And  you  were  sorry,  Joan?" 

"Sorry?     Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  had  been  happy  there — happier  than  I 
had  ever  been  in  my  life." 

"Was  it  only  because  of  the  factory  workers  that 
you  were  happy?"  he  persisted. 

"No — of  course  not." 

"Dick  made  you  happy?" 

"Yes—" 

"Oh,  Joan,  can't  you  be  a  little  kind?" 

"My  dear — you  made  me  happy  there — "  she  said 
frankly  and  tenderly. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her,  but  she  slipped  from 
them  resolutely.  He  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"What  is  it,  Joan?" 

"It's — everything." 

"Do  you  love  me?" 

"I  cannot  marry  you,  Gregory.  My  life  is  dedicated 
to  work,  to  helping  the  people  I  come  from — "  she  be- 
gan hurriedly.  "I  cannot  go  and  settle  down  at  the 


324  THE  THRESHOLD 

Hall,  as  your  wife.  I  would  feel  that  I  had  been  a 
traitor  to  my  class." 

"Do  you  love  your  class,  as  you  call  it,  more  than 
you  do  me?"  he  asked  her,  puzzled  at  her  evident  dis- 
tress. 

"That  is  what  I  must  decide.  That  is  what  I  came 
away  to  think  over." 

"I  don't  understand  at  all,  Joan — but  I  want  to  be 
fair.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  a  woman  loves  a  man,  her 
place  is  with  him.  If  she  fills  his  life,  gives  him  chil- 
dren, makes  the  world  better  for  a  happy  family,  isn't 
that  enough  for  any  woman?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,  it  is  enough  for  any  woman,  but  not 
enough  for  some  women.  I  want  to  find  out  which  I 
am." 

"Dearest,  we  can't  quibble  about  this.  We  love 
each  other,  we  belong  to  each  other — that  is  the  only 
thing  that  counts,"  he  cried  to  her. 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  love, 
Gregory.  I  came  across  a  little  poem  the  other  day 
called,  "The  Door." 

She  repeated  it  to  him  slowly,  softly: 

"THE  DOOR" 

"Love  is  a  proud  and  gentle  thing,  a  better  thing  to  own 
Than  all  of  the  wide  impossible  stars  over  the  heavens  blown, 
And  the  little  gifts  her  hand  gives  are  careless  given  or  taken, 
And  tho  the  whole  great  world  break,  the  heart  of  her  is  not 
shaken.  .  .  . 

"Love  is  a  viol  in  the  wind,  a  viol  never  stilled, 
And  mine  of  all  is  the  surest  that  ever  God  has  willed ; 
I  shall  speak  to  her  tho  she  goes  before  me  into  the  grave, 
And  tho  I  drown  in  the  sea,  herself  shall  laugh  upon  a  wave; 


THE  THRESHOLD  325 

And  the  things  that  love  gives  after  shall  be  as  they  were  before, 
For  life  is  only  a  small  house  .  .  .  and  love  is  an  open  door." 

"Somehow  it  seems  as  if  I  could  not  go  into  the 
small  house,  alone  with  you,  and  shut  the  door.  It 
seems  as  if  love  ought  to  make  us  so  big,  so  tender  that 
the  door  must  always  stand  open  to  all  the  world. 
Does  that  tell  you  what  I  mean?" 

"A  little.  It's  a  part  of  your  modern  world,  that  I 
have  no  place  in,"  he  sighed.  "What  is  it  you  want 
me  to  do,  beloved  of  my  heart?" 

"I  want  you  to  let  me  have  all  the  time  I  need  to 
think  this  out.  If  I  come  to  stay  with  you,  Gregory, 
for  ever  and  a  day,  I  want  to  come  freely  and  of  my 
own  choice.  If  I  decide  I  must  go  on  with  my  work, 
I  want  to  have  no  regrets." 

"You  will  not  come  back  to  the  Hall?" 

"Not  for  a  while.  I  can't  think  clearly  when  I  am 
with  you." 

"My  dearest!" 

"No — please — help  me  with  this.  I'll  come  back  in 
the  summer.  Perhaps  you'll  let  me  bring  Miss  Earl 
for  the  month  of  her  vacation." 

"Of  course,  if  you  think  there  should  be  some  one." 

Dick  plunged  through  the  curtains  and  into  the  room. 

"Here  you  are!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Dick!"  Joan  said,  and  smiled.  He  looked  so 
flushed  and  distressed.  "How  did  you  find  me?" 

"I  wrung  the  name  of  the  place  out  of  that  Miss 
Earl." 

"Poor  Miss  Earl,"  Joan  said. 

"I  guess  it  is  poor  Miss  Earl.  I  nearly  scared  her  to 
death.  She  wasn't  going  to  give  it  to  me,  so  I  told  her 
I'd  be  forced  to  sit  there  until  you  came  in  again." 


326  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Dick!" 

"I  thought  I'd  find  you  here,"  he  remarked  to  his 
uncle. 

"You're  not  disappointed  then." 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  him,  Joan  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"You've  got  to  decide.  I've  been  so  upset  ever  since 
you  left  that  I  haven't  done  a  thing  on  the  plans — " 

"Upset,  Dick?" 

"Yes — I  can't  go  ahead  with  the  thing  without  you 
and  you  know  it.  I  want  you  to  come  back  and  get  to 
work,  that's  what  I  want.  You  started  this  thing  and 
I  think  you  ought  to  see  it  through,"  Dick  said  hotly. 

"I'm  sorry  Dick,  but  it  isn't  possible — " 

Gregory  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  floor, 
hands  in  pockets,  head  down. 

"Go  back  with  him,  Joan.  I'll  take  myself  out  of 
the  picture  for  such  time  as  you  may  decide  upon." 

"That  isn't  fair  to  you — "  she  began. 

"Yes — that's  the  way  to  arrange  it.  Consider  it 
settled.  The  boy's  right.  He  needs  you  to  help  swing 
this  big  job.  We'll  get  to  our  affair  later." 

"That's  very  like  you,  Gregory." 

"Get  your  bag  then,  and  let's  catch  the  2:10. 
Betts  has  got  some  blue  prints  to  decide  on  this  after- 
noon," said  Dick. 

Joan  laughed. 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "I  have  to  stop  at  Miss 
Earl's  office  on  the  way.™ 

She  was  back  shortly  and  they  set  off  for  the  Bureau. 
Gregory  was  to  go  to  the  Hall  until  he  settled  on  his 
plans. 

At  the  Bureau  they  went  into  Miss  Earl's  office  three 
abreast. 


THE  THRESHOLD  327 

"Miss  Earl,"  said  Joan,  "I'm  caught  and  I'm  being 
taken  back." 

"Forcibly?" 

"No— willingly." 

"Your  brief  sojourn  here  has,  I  may  say,  been 
somewhat  upsetting  to  the  Bureau,"  the  manager  said 
with  a  humorous  twinkle. 

"I  know.     I  do  hope  Dick  didn't—" 

"You  needn't  hope  it — he  did!" 

"Sorry — had  to,"  remarked  the  culprit. 

"You've  been  very  good  to  all  of  us,  Miss  Earl,  and 
we  want  you  at  Farwell  for  a  month  at  least  this 
summer — "  Gregory  began. 

"Cut  it  short,  Uncle  Greg.     We'll  miss  the  train." 

"We're  going  on  the  2  no,"  smiled  Joan. 

"I  hope  you  don't  miss  it  this  time — "  said  Miss 
Earl  fervently. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

BACK  to  the  Hall  they  journeyed.     Joan  drew  a 
breath  of  satisfaction  when  they  stepped  within 
its  doors  again.     Gregory  caught  the  signifi- 
cance of  her  sigh  and  smiled  at  her. 

"I  am  not  acting  on  my  best  judgment  at  all.  I  am 
being  persuaded  through  my  affections,"  she  said  to 
him. 

"I  approve  the  route  your  affections  lead  you,"  he 
said  gently. 

The  next  few  days  were  a  trifle  difficult  for  all  three 
of  them,  since  their  relationship  had  been  subtly 
changed  by  the  emotional  crises  that  had  come  to 
them.  But  Joan  led  the  way  with  a  matter  of  fact 
manner  which  established  her  intention  of  keeping 
emotion  of  all  kinds  out  of  the  picture. 

Gregory  made  his  leisurely  arrangements  to  go  south. 
He  stood  by  his  offer  to  vacate  the  field  for  Dick,  dur- 
ing the  initial  steps  of  his  big  task,  but  now  that  the 
time  had  come,  he  felt  a  bit  aggrieved  at  having  to  exile 
himself.  He  watched  Joan  closely,  and  if  she  was 
aware  of  any  added  tenderness  in  his  manner  toward 
her,  she  made  no  least  acknowledgment.  She  had 
said  that  she  could  not  face  her  decision  about  her  life, 
without  bias,  while  he  was  there.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  this  business-like  young  woman,  who  surrounded 
herself  with  urgent  tasks,  so  that  there  was  never  a 
chance  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  her,  would  allow  anything 
or  anybody  to  influence  her  judgment. 

328 


THE  THRESHOLD  329 

"Gregory,  do  you  want  to  change  your  mind  about 
going  away?"  she  said  to  him.  "I  can  persuade  Dick 
to  let  me  go,  I  feel  sure." 

"You  still  feel  that  we  ought  to  be  separated  while 
you  decide?" 

"Yes." 

"I  can't  see  that  I  mean  any  more  to  you  than  that 
table.  You  treat  me  with  the  same  impersonality  you 
show  toward  the  table.  I  should  think  that  any  one 
who  had  themselves  in  hand  like  that — "  he  began. 

"I  came  back  to  please  you  and  Dick,  you  remember/* 
I'm  going.  I  shall  leave  tomorrow,"  he  replied 
curtly. 

"Why  don't  you  stay  here  and  let  me  move  to  the 
village?"  she  suggested. 

"The  matter  is  settled.  I  go  tomorrow  and  you  stay 
on  here  and  help  Dick." 

"But  I  cannot  let  you  go  feeling  that  you  have  been 
put  out — that  you  are  unfairly  treated — " 

He  looked  into  her  serious-eyed,  anxious  face. 

"Poor  little  Joan!  It's  all  right.  It  was  my  own 
suggestion,  and  I  go  willingly.  Only  don't  be  too 
long  deciding,  dear.  Remember  that  like  the  soul  of 
Tomlinson,  I  shall  hover  between  Heaven  and  Hell." 

"I  shall  not  forget,"  she  replied  gravely. 

He  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them.  It  was  their 
real  farewell,  because  she  gave  him  no  opportunity  for 
another,  up  to  the  time  of  his  departure. 

Joan  and  Dick  plunged  into  the  problems  of  the  new 
village,  in  earnest  now.  Every  waking  minute  was 
spent  in  some  sort  of  planning,  considering,  deciding. 
At  meals  they  discussed  nothing  else.  They  fairly 
dreamed  of  it  by  night. 

The  plans  grew  into  blue  prints,  in  Betts'  untiring 


330  THE  THRESHOLD 

hands.  Orders  were  placed  for  materials  to  use  in  the 
building.  Dick  and  Patsy  went  to  New  York  to  get 
on  the  track  of  a  general  manager  of  the  new  plant, 
with  Patsy  to  act  as  foreman.  They  invited  Saunders 
to  go  with  them  to  decide  on  the  most  modern  ma- 
chinery to  be  installed.  He  accepted  and  they  spent 
days  conferring  and  deciding  before  they  put  in  their 
orders. 

Dick  insisted  upon  a  more  up-to-date  manager  than 
Saunders  had  been,  but  he  asked  the  older  man  to  head 
the  order  department.  He  refused  it.  He  assured 
them  that  he  knew  they  were  headed  straight  for  ruin. 
He  informed  them  that  the  minute  you  began  to  favour 
labour,  labour  took  advantage  of  you.  The  boys  in- 
vited him  to  visit  the  factory  one  year  after  its  new 
beginning  that  he  might  see  what  modern  ways  and 
thoughts  could  accomplish. 

They  made  mistakes,  of  course.  Their  youth  and 
their  inexperience  might  have  wrecked  the  whole  pro- 
ject in  the  end,  if,  as  Joan  said,  "the  Lord  had  not 
raised  up  a  man,"  to  help  them  in  their  need. 

The  rumour  of  their  venture  had  spread  through 
factory  circles  in  the  state,  and  one  day  a  man  walked 
into  the  offices  they  had  established  in  Farwell,  and 
offered  himself  as  manager.  He  was  forty-five  years 
old,  experienced  in  the  industry,  had  managed  a  cotton 
goods  factory  in  the  state  and  had  come  up  from  the 
ranks  himself.  He  had  heard  about  Dick's  plan — it 
had  interested  him,  and  he  forthwith  presented  himself 
for  their  service.  His  name  was  Frank  Sims. 

The  boys  liked  him.  They  looked  up  his  record, 
found  it  satisfactory  and  hired  him.  They  took  him 
about  among  the  men  and  women  workers.  He  made 
himself  solid  with  them  at  once,  because  he  knew  their 


THE  THRESHOLD  331 

life  and  needs.  His  judgment  was,  from  that  time, 
the  compass  by  which  the  youthful  enthusiasts  steered. 
Sims  knew  how  to  sift  the  grain  from  the  chaff  of  their 
ideas,  and  he  never  made  the  mistake  of  offending 
them  by  an  attitude  of  tolerant  endurance.  He  was  a 
thoughtful  man,  self-educated,  a  social  democrat  of 
solid  convictions.  He  wanted  to  see  all  the  social  ex- 
periments tried  which  could  be  made  practical.  He 
saw  that  these  boys  had  an  idea,  plus  a  feeling  for  co- 
operation. He  saw  a  chance  here  for  the  workers,  he 
threw  his  whole  energy  into  the  balance. 

Late  February  and  March  saw  the  men  all  em- 
ployed in  gathering  and  hauling  stone  for  the  founda- 
tion work.  Each  gang  chose  its  own  foreman  from  its 
number,  and  the  work  was  entered  into  in  holiday  spirit. 

Joan  and  Mrs.  Rafferty  induced  the  boys  to  have 
two  men  and  two  women  elected  by  the  workers  to  act 
as  their  representatives  and  to  help  pass  on  decisions  as 
to  the  building  and  equipping  of  the  factory.  This 
they  did  and  while  it  made  it  a  trifle  unwieldy  to  have 
so  many  on  the  committee,  it  proved  a  very  popular 
move  with  the  people. 

The  clubs  among  the  women  and  children  were 
organized.  The  garden  clubs  came  first.  Certain 
groups  were  to  look  after  certain  things.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  keep  them  from  beginning  long  before  the 
ground  was  thawed.  A  discussion  arose  as  to  the  di- 
vision of  the  gardens.  Since  there  was  no  way  of 
knowing  now,  which  family  would  have  which  cottage, 
how  could  they  identify  their  own  gardens? 

"But  there  isn't  going  to  be  mine  and  thine  in  these 
gardens.  They  are  to  be  'ours,*  "  Joan  explained  to 
them.  "We  want  everybody  to  have  a  good  garden. 
We'll  start  out  all  the  gardens  alike,  then  later  it  will 


332  THE  THRESHOLD 

be  up  to  each  one  of  you  as  to  which  ones  do  the 
best.  We  are  all  to  work  together — our  factory — our 
cottages — our  gardens — don't  you  see  ?" 

"But  I  don't  know  nuthin'  about  gardenin',"  said  one 
woman. 

"Then  you  are  the  one  we  all  want  to  help,"  Joan 
said.  "Isn't  that  so,  friends?" 

They  agreed  that  it  was,  but  none  too  heartily.  This 
particular  woman  was  a  slack,  miserable  creature, 
looked  down  on  by  her  own  neighbours.  Joan  hoped 
to  redeem  her,  but  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  sceptical.  It  was 
by  no  means  plain  sailing  with  these  women.  They 
had  their  likes  and  their  dislikes,  their  cliques  and  their 
class  distinctions  just  like  every  other  grade  of  society. 
Mrs.  Rafferty  looked  upon  Mrs.  Kovlatski  as  little 
more  than  a  dog — and  so  it  went.  They  were  stupid, 
work-worn,  uneducated  folk.  They  were  not  waking 
up  in  a  jiffy  to  the  beautiful  doctrine  of  brotherly  love, 
they  were  not  seeing  the  light  as  Joan  saw  it. 

Mrs.  Rafferty  punctured  some  of  Joan's  dreams 
promptly. 

"Ye  ain't  goin'  to  make  new  folks  av  thim,  by  jest 
putting  'em  in  new  houses,"  she  repeatedly  counselled. 
"Polacks  is  Polacks  in  shanties,  or  in  model  cottages." 

"But  even  Polacks  can  learn." 

"I  ain't  so  sure.  There's  loafers  an'  workers,  an' 
the  loafers  ull  live  off'n  the  workers  jest  the  same  in 
good  factory  towns  or  bad,"  said  the  wise  old  woman. 

"But  you  don't  think  there's  anything  that  Patsy  and 
Jimmy  and  the  rest  of  your  children  can't  learn,"  Joan 
said. 

"They're  Irish— an'  smart." 

But  Joan  worked  away  on  her  recruits.  She  man- 
aged to  inspire  them  with  a  desire  to  get  at  the  digging, 


THE  THRESHOLD  333 

and  April,  which  promised  an  early  spring,  saw  the 
garden  squads  at  work.  The  company  provided  tools, 
seeds  and  fertilizer. 

The  work  of  digging  up  the  tough  sod  of  the  big 
plot  which  had  been  chosen  for  the  vegetable  gardens, 
did  not  daunt  the  foreign-born  peasant  women  at  all. 
The  girls  who  had  worked  in  the  factory  were  not  so 
strong — could  not  endure  so  much  as  their  mothers,  but 
old  and  young  worked  early  and  late  on  the  digging, 
ploughing,  fertilizing,  and  planting  of  the  vegetables. 
They  took  turns,  certain  women  serving  certain  days, 
with  the  women  at  home  feeding  the  children  of  the 
absent  gardeners.  Joan  thrilled  at  what  she  thought 
was  the  birth  of  a  real  community  spirit,  but  Mrs.  Raf- 
ferty  scoffed  when  she  spoke  of  it  to  her. 

May  saw  the  foundations  dug,  and  laid.  Joan  and 
Dick  organized  a  ceremony  for  the  laying  of  the  foun- 
dation stone.  There  were  speeches  and  exercises,  and 
the  children  sang  a  dedicatory  hymn.  They  did  not 
all  fully  understand  the  significance  of  the  occasion, 
but  it  was  a  beautiful  day  and  they  enjoyed  the  holiday 
and  the  air  of  festivity.  On  the  whole,  friendly  feel- 
ings were  promoted. 

June  arrived  with  perfect  weather  which  favoured 
them.  About  the  middle  of  that  month  a  delegation  of 
women  visited  the  office.  They  asked  Dick  to  take  a 
sufficient  number  of  men  off  the  factory  work,  to  dig 
the  foundations  for  the  first  row  of  cottages.  They 
would  work  on  the  mason  work  of  the  cellars,  and  later, 
in  the  actual  construction,  under  the  direction  of  a  boss. 
Dick  and  Sims  laughed  at  the  idea,  begged  them  to  be 
patient — the  most  important  thing  was  to  get  the  fac- 
tory done  and  operating.  But  the  women  were  in- 
sistent. The  gardens  were  needing  less  attention  now, 


334  THE  THRESHOLD 

they  wanted  to  be  working  on  their  homes.  Would 
the  Company  experiment  with  one  cottage,  giving  the 
women  a  chance  to  show  what  they  could  do?  Dick 
finally  agreed  to  that,  after  consultation  with  his  com- 
mittee. Joan  urged  it,  and  work  was  begun  on  the 
first  house.  As  soon  as  the  earth  was  dug,  the  place 
fairly  swarmed  with  women,  anxious  to  work  on  the 
cellar.  It  was  done  in  no  time,  and  the  contractor 
laughingly  admitted  that  it  was  done  well.  That  set- 
tled it.  Work  went  ahead  on  the  cellars  of  other  cot- 
tages. The  women  drew  full  wages  with  the  men — 
the  children  drew  a  wage  scaled  to  their  age  and  use- 
fulness. 

"The  women  are  speeding  up  the  men,"  Dick  laughed 
one  summer  night,  as  he  and  Joan  sat  on  the  terrace, 
after  dinner. 

"It's  inspiring  to  me  the  way  they  work.  They're 
putting  sentiment  into  the  building  of  their  own  homes 
— and  muscle.  It's  appalling  how  strong  those  older 
women  are.  I  have  to  hold  them  back  all  the  time,  or 
they  would  move  iron  girders  and  piles  of  brick." 

"I  don't  suppose  there  has  ever  been  anything  like  it 
in  this  country  before,  do  you?"  Dick  inquired. 

"Probably  not.  Oh,  Dick,  isn't  life  fun,  when  you 
feel  that  your  work  counts?" 

"You  bet  it  is.  I  never  knew  what  fun  was  be- 
fore." 

"It  has  been  a  wonderful  year." 

"Is  it  only  a  year?  It  seems  as  if  you  had  always 
been  here,  Joan,  helping  us,  scolding  us,  keeping  us 
on  the  job." 

"Sounds  awfully  unpleasant  of  me,  Dick." 

"Unpleasant  enough,  often,  but  look  where  it's  got 
us." 


THE  THRESHOLD  335 

"I  wish  we  could  have  interested  Mr.  Farwell  in 
it  all,"  Joan  sighed. 

"Too  late.  Uncle  Greg  got  the  wrong  start.  Your 
start  makes  such  a  big  difference,  doesn't  it?" 

"Dick,  did  Mr.  Farwell  ever  tell  you  where  I  got 
my  start?" 

"No.     Does  he  know?" 

"I  told  him.  Haven't  you  ever  wondered  about 
where  I  came  from?" 

"Mrs.  Rafferty  told  me  you  had  come  from  working 
people.  I  shut  her  up,  because  it  was  none  of  my 
business." 

"Good  old  Dick!  I  think  I'd  like  you  to  know.  I 
was  born  in  a  cottage  in  Whiting,  Indiana — not  much 
better  than  the  shanties  in  Farwell.  My  father  worked 
in  the  steel  mills  there.  The  town  is  uglier  than  Far- 
well — flat,  sordid,  smokesmothered.  The  furnaces 
blaze  all  day  and  all  night — alternate  glare  and  gloom. 
There  are  always  accidents — men  are  always  being 
killed — my  father  was  one  of  them." 

"Oh,  Joan!"  he  exclaimed  tenderly. 

"He  believed  in  the  workingman.  He  read  and 
studied  and  wanted  to  help  working  conditions.  He 
didn't  have  any  money,  and  he  had  my  mother  and  me 
to  think  of — so  he  didn't  accomplish  anything,  except 
me.  But  he  made  me  understand  that  my  work  was 
to  do  what  he  wanted  to  and  couldn't." 

"I  see.     That's  why  you  care  so." 

"Yes.  My  mother  was  the  bitter,  enduring  kind. 
She  always  stands  for  unorganized  labour  in  my  mind. 
She  worked  in  a  factory  too.  She  always  had  a  griev- 
ance— she  hated  the  employing  class,  but  she  didn't 
count.  Do  you  see?" 

"Yes.     What  happened  to  her  ?" 


336  THE  THRESHOLD 

"She  died,  an  old,  old  woman  at  fifty.  She  was 
broken-down  and  worn  out — just  waste." 

"But  you,  Joan — how  did  you  get  your  start?" 

"I  was  born  a  rebel.  Naturally  enough,  since  my 
parents  were  too,  in  their  different  ways.  When  I  was 
a  little  girl  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get  out  of  the  machine 
that  had  caught  them  and  ground  them  to  bits.  I  soon 
saw  that  education  was  the  way  of  escape.  So  I  fought 
for  one  and  got  it." 

"I  see  why  it  seems  so  important  to  you.  No  wonder 
you  thought  I  was  a  criminal  to  shirk  mine.  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  this  before,  Joan?" 

"How  I  came  to  be  what  I  am  isn't  important,  is  it? 
What  I  do  with  myself  is  what  counts.  I  wanted  so  to 
make  you  see  what  responsibility  you  assumed  when 
you  inherited — and  my  word ! — haven't  I  just  tumbled 
things  over  right  and  left?" 

"Yes — but  I  think  we'll  build  something  worth  while 
yet." 

"So  do  I.     I  couldn't  go  on,  if  I  didn't,  Dick." 

"When  we  get  the  new  place  finished  and  running, 
then  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  think  that  out,  when  I  have  more  time. 
I'm  so  busy  now  with  each  day's  work — "  she  said  hur- 
riedly. 

"You  ought  to  get  other  companies  to  do  as  we  have 
here.  You  ought  to  go  all  over  the  country  and  get 
them  worked  up  to  it,"  he  cried.  "That  would  be 
great." 

She  made  no  answer  to  that. 

"Couldn't  you  marry  me  and  let  me  go,  too?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"No,  Dick." 

"Well,  if  it  isn't  Uncle  Greg  nor  me,  then  you  ought 


THE  THRESHOLD  337 

to  marry  somebody  like  Sims,  who  understands  the 
labouring  class  perfectly." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  warry  Sims." 

"He's  great!     One  of  the  finest  fellows  I  ever  met." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  agreed,  smiling. 

"You  might  go  far  and  do  worse.  You  have  to 
marry  somebody.  It's  too  lonesome  for  a  woman  all 
alone." 

"It  is,  rather." 

"I'm  glad  you  told  me  about  yourself." 

"I  sort  of  wanted  to  review  it." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  gives  me  a  clear  view  of  my  work  and 
what  I  must  do." 

"No  hurry.  You've  got  some  job  on  your  hands 
right  here  !"  he  reminded  her. 

Had  he  but  known,  she  needed  no  reminding  of  that 
fact.  She  had  said  with  truth  that  she  needed  to  call 
up  her  past  to  goad  her  flagging  purpose  into  action. 
She  managed  not  to  face  her  problem  during  the  busy 
day,  but  with  the  night,  it  found  her  unprotected. 
Gregory's  letters  never  urged  her  to  decide;  they 
were  charming,  impersonal  epistles  which  claimed  noth- 
ing of  her. 

"I  find  that  without  my  suspecting  it  you  have  man- 
aged to  somewhat  change  my  point  of  view  about  peo- 
ple. I  am  no  longer  able  to  be  unaware  of  them. 
Since  human  needs  have  laid  their  urgence  upon  me — 
since  I  know  what  it  is  to  yearn  for  love,  for  a  wife  and 
children,  I  find  myself  drawn  nearer  to  my  kind.  I 
look  at  them  and  speculate  about  them.  I  do  not  love 
them,  as  you  and  Dick  would  have  me  do — but  I  feel 
as  if  we  were  all  sheep,  turned  into  one  great  pasture, 
moved  by  the  same  desires  and  wants.  .  .  . 


338  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I  don't  enjoy  being  a  sheep — it  is  so  undistin- 
guished." 

Joan  read  and  re-read  his  letters.  They  were  more 
intimate  glimpses  into  his  mind  than  she  had  ever 
had.  Philosophic,  descriptive,  sometimes  brilliant, 
they  were  as  expressive  as  his  hands.  They  brought 
home  to  her,  with  emphasis,  the  bitter  realization  of 
what  it  would  mean  to  shut  out  of  her  life  for  good 
all  that  Gregory  Farwell  meant  to  her. 

Just  how  much  was  a  woman's  work  justified  in  re- 
quiring the  sacrifice  of  the  woman's  fullest  personal 
life?  If  she  married  Gregory  and  fulfilled  what  she 
was  beginning  to  recognize  as  her  heart's  desire,  must 
she  lose  her  usefulness  in  the  work  she  had  set  out  to 
do?  She  wondered  if  this  was  getting  to  be  more 
and  more  of  a  problem  with  women  who  took  their 
work  seriously.  If  only  Gregory  shared  her  ambition, 
how  ideal  that  would  be!  But,  not  only  did  he  not 
share  it,  but  probably  he  would  be  unwilling  to  make 
any  compromise  in  the  matter.  It  would  be  all  or 
nothing  with  him,  she  believed. 

While  she  was  trying  to  work  out  a  solution  for  the 
difficulty  she  had  a  letter  from  Miss  Earl  saying  that 
she  was  about  to  go  away  for  her  vacation.  Joan  sud- 
denly felt  the  need  of  that  woman's  clear  thinking 
and  friendly  understanding.  She  consulted  Dick,  who 
agreed  to  a  telegram  asking  Miss  Earl  to  come  to  them 
for  a  fortnight  at  least. 

Ruth  Earl  came  herself  as  an  answer. 

When  she  and  Joan  drove  up  to  the  Hall,  set  in  its 
gardens,  in  all  their  early  summer  luxuriance  of  bloom, 
Miss  Earl  fairly  gasped. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  it  was  like  this!"  she  exclaimed. 


THE  THRESHOLD  339 

"I  have  always  had  a  vision  of  Farwell  Hall,  but  it 
wasn't  at  all  like  this." 

"It  is  very  beautiful,  isn't  it?" 

"To  think  of  my  having  sent  you  here,  to  run  this 
great  palace!"  ejaculated  Miss  Earl,  turning  to  stare 
at  Joan. 

"And  think  of  my  doing  it!"  she  laughed  in  answer. 

"Yes — think  of  your  doing  it,"  her  guest  repeated. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  much  pleasant  companion- 
ship for  both  of  the  women,  and  a  cementing  of  their 
friendship.  Miss  Earl  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
factory  experiment. 

The  first  day  Joan  took  her  to  the  new  site,  they  got 
out  of  the  motor  and  climbed  a  slight  hill  before  which 
the  whole  scene  spread  like  a  panorama.  The  sound 
of  singing  came  to  them,  before  they  reached  the  top. 

"What  is  that?" 

"It  is  the  men.  They  almost  always  sing  at  their 
work,"  Joan  answered. 

They  came  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  and  looked  into 
the  long  green  valley.  The  great  factory  was  rising 
there,  its  walls  growing  each  day.  The  men  ran  over 
it,  like  ants  at  their  building,  and  as  they  hammered  and 
sawed  and  plastered  the  bricks,  they  sang. 

On  the  low  hills  that  lifted  their  heads  above  the 
valley,  were  more  workers — the  women — the  beavers, 
at  their  home-making.  Sometimes  they  took  up  the 
men's  song  in  a  treble  chorus  and  shouted  it  back  at 
them.  Beyond,  in  the  garden  ground,  the  children 
weeded,  and  collected  the  bugs  off  the  vines  and  vege- 
tables. Over  the  whole  scene  the  sun  shone  radiantly, 
the  sky  stretched  its  blue  canopy,  the  hills  distilled  their 
peace. 


340  THE  THRESHOLD 

The  two  women  stood  in  silence  for  many  minutes. 
When  Miss  Earl  turned  her  face  to  Joan,  there  were 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"How  labour  is  dignified  when  it  is  done  with  joy!" 
she  said. 

"Yes,  there  is  the  beginning  here  of  something  we 
need  in  the  world,  isn't  there  ?  See  Dick  over  there  on 
the  hill,  outlined  against  the  sky?  He  is  like  a  young 
prophet  come  to  lead  them,  isn't  he?"  Joan  answered. 

From  that  moment  Miss  Earl  was  absorbed  in  this 
experiment.  She  went  among  the  women  and  came  to 
know  them.  She  talked  with  Dick  and  Joan  by  the 
hour  at  night,  about  social  conditions  and  labour  prob- 
lems, as  she  had  come  in  touch  with  them  through  her 
work.  She  gave  them  much  of  her  wisdom  and  her 
advice.  Her  enthusiasm  over  their  plan  was  like  a 
new  baptism. 

Joan  led  her  to  talk  of  the  personal  problem  of  the 
woman  with  a  big  social  service  to  perform. 

"Joan,  I  think  that  the  height  of  a  woman's  social 
service  can  be  measured  by  the  depth  of  her  personal 
experience  and  happiness.  Don't  you  believe  that  a 
woman  who  has  known  the  deepest  emotions,  love  of 
husband,  and  of  child,  is  better  fitted  to  cope  with  broad 
human  needs  than  a  woman  who  has  denied  these 
things  to  herself?  Or  to  whom  life  has  denied  them?" 

"But  if  there  is  no  compromise?  If  one  must  be 
sacrificed  or  the  other?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  sacrifice,"  said  the  descendant  of 
a  long  line  of  Puritans. 

But  her  words  took  root  in  Joan's  heart, — maybe 
there  was  a  way  for  her  to  both  have  love  and  give 
love.  When  Miss  Earl  left,  the  evening  of  the  last 
day  of  her  fortnight,  Joan  was  saying  over  to  herself 


THE  THRESHOLD  341 

her  words,  as  she  turned  the  runabout  to  go  back  to 
the  Hall. 

"Will  you  take  a  passenger?"  asked  a  well-known 
voice,  and  her  heart  began  strange  antics. 

"I  came  back  for  a  minute  or  so — do  you  mind?" 
he  inquired,  seating  himself  beside  her. 

"No,  I  think  I'm  glad,"  she  answered  cautiously. 

He  looked  at  her,  as  if  he  had  been  long  starved  for 
the  sight  of  her.  She  sped  the  car  forward  and  on  the 
road  outside  the  town  they  came  upon  Dick  and  Patsy 
and  the  whole  troop  of  home-going  labourers,  men, 
women  and  children.  They  were  laughing  and  talking 
and  whistling  and  singing — a  happy,  tired  lot.  The 
sun  slanted  low  behind  them. 

"They  do  look  fit!" 

"Here  are  Dick's  happy  villagers,"  said  Gregory. 

"Yes,  they  are  finding  health  and  happiness  and,  oh 
— so  many  other  things !"  Joan  exclaimed. 

"Well,  I'm  glad.  They  can  thank  you  for  that,"  he 
said.  "And  what  have  you  found  in  your  heart  for  me, 
Joan?"  he  added  earnestly. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

GREGORY  did  not  leave  the  Hall  again. 
"Gregory,"  Joan  said  to  him,  the  night  of 
his  return,  "a  part  of  my  deciding  had  to  be 
done  with  you  away,  the  rest  of  it  has  to  be  done 
with  you  here.     Will  you  stay?" 

"Gladly.     But  isn't  that  decision  made  yet?" 

"Not  quite.  If  we  could  let  things  drift  until  fall — 
if  we  could  have  a  month  or  two  of  companionship, 
like  we  used  to  have.  I  feel  that  we  both  have 
changed,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Would  it  make  you  unhappy  to  spend  a  month  or 
two  getting  acquainted  with  the  new  Joan  Babcock?" 

"Do  I  need  to  say  it  would  make  me  happy?" 

"You  agree,  then?" 

"My  dear — I  agree  to  anything  that  keeps  me  near 
you.  Don't  send  me  away  again — that  is  all  I  ask." 

"One  thing  more.  Shall  we  agree  to  save  sentiment 
until  we  know  definitely  about  the  future?"  she  said 
shyly. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  save  sentiment.  Every  time 
I  look  at  you,  or  touch  your  hand  I  tell  you  that  I  love 
you.  Am  I  not  to  look  at  you,  or  touch  you?" 

"You're  not  to  tell  me  about  it  in  words,  please." 

"Oh— is  that  all?     That's  easy." 

"You're  a  very  nice  man,  Gregory,"  she  admitted, 
smilingly. 

So  there  began  for  them  a  sort  of  period  of  pro- 
bation. Joan  was  so  busy  with  her  work  in  connection 

342 


THE  THRESHOLD  343 

with  the  new  village,  that  at  first  Gregory  rarely  saw 
her.  But  he  remedied  that  by  offering  himself  as 
chauffeur.  Back  and  forth  they  went  between  the  vil- 
lage and  the  Hall  a  dozen  times  a  day.  She  fell  into 
the  habit  of  submitting  her  many  problems  to  him,  on 
these  rides.  His  advice  was  often  at  odds  with  her 
action,  his  comments  on  people  were  frequently  hu- 
morous. Joan  delighted  in  the  discovery  that  Gregory 
and  Mrs.  Rafferty,  bred  at  the  opposite  poles  of  the 
social  scale,  shared  the  same  scepticism  in  regard  to 
poor  old  blundering  humanity.  They  saw  the  facts 
where  Joan  saw  the  possibilities,  they  expressed  con- 
viction where  she  breathed  hope.  They  kept  her  feet 
and  Dick's,  too,  on  solid  ground  on  many  occasions. 

In  July  Dick  came  to  Joan  with  the  suggestion  that 
they  take  up  his  work  again  in  preparation  for  college. 

"We  can  spend  the  mornings  at  the  village  and  bone 
in  the  afternoon,  if  you  can  stand  that." 

"Certainly." 

"I've  decided  to  get  in  this  fall,  if  I  can.  Four 
years  is  a  long  time,  and  I  want  to  get  them  over  and 
be  about  my  job  out  here." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,  Dick." 

"I  don't  think  anybody  on  earth  but  you  could  get 
me  ready  for  exams.  But  I  know  it's  pretty  tough  on 
you  to  ask  it  of  you,  when  you're  working  so  hard  at 
this  other  thing." 

"We  can  manage  it  all  right,  Dick,  and  I'd  love  to 
help  you,"  she  said  simply. 

"You're  a  peach,  Joan,"  he  exclaimed  with  his  old- 
time  boyish  ardour. 

So  the  days  became  one  busy  routine.  Breakfast 
was  no  longer  a  kisurely  function  at  nine  o'clock. 
Joan  and  Dick  were  off  on  horses,  or  in  the  runabout, 


344  THE  THRESHOLD 

by  eight  o'clock.  They  put  in  the  morning  at  the  office 
or  at  the  works.  The  business  was  pretty  well  sys- 
tematized by  now,  with  Sims  in  the  office,  Patsy  and 
Betts  and  the  contractor  in  charge  of  the  actual  con- 
struction. Back  to  the  Hall  they  went  for  luncheon 
and  from  that  time  on  until  four-thirty  they  worked 
over  Dick's  books.  Then  off  he  went  for  an  inspection 
of  the  day's  work  on  the  buildings  while  Joan  rested 
or  drove  or  rode  with  Gregory.  Dinner  at  eight,  on 
the  terrace — study  for  Dick,  talk  for  the  other  two 
until  bedtime. 

"Joan,  you  tireless  woman !"  Gregory  said  to  her. 
"This  boy  will  wear  you  out." 

"No,  I  love  it.  I  wish  you  could  realize  how  Dick 
gallops  along  in  his  work.  It  is  a  business  with  him 
now.  He  is  so  grown  up,  Gregory.  He  brings  a 
man's  point  of  view  to  it,  now.  It  seems  impossible 
that  a  year  ago  he  was  our  lazy,  aimless  little  boy 
Dick." 

"Are  you  sorry  now  you've  got  him  'wakened  up,' 
as  you  called  it?" 

"No — I'm  glad.     He's  going  to  be  a  fine  man." 

"You've  done  well  with  him,  Joan.  We  all  have 
to  admit  it.  But  he  absorbs  a  great  deal  of  your  time," 
he  complained. 

"Dick  is  my  job  just  now." 

"Are  you  ever  going  to  get  to  me?" 

She  smiled  at  him. 

"I  think  so." 

"I'm  a  patient  man,  Joan,  but  time  is  fleeting." 

"This  is  Dick's  summer,  Gregory.  Maybe  the 
autumn  will  be  ours." 

"Joan!" 

"I  said  maybe." 


THE  THRESHOLD  345 

For  the  most  part  he  kept  his  promise  that  sentiment 
should  be  postponed  for  the  time  being.  On  their 
walks  and  rides  and  drives  they  talked  like  good  com- 
rades, not  like  lovers.  There  was  much  in  his  world 
of  books  and  of  the  mind  to  which  he  could  introduce 
her,  and  she  entered  there,  with  the  same  ardour  that 
characterized  everything  she  did.  If  he  did  not  share 
entirely  her  dream  of  a  democracy  based  upon  business 
organized  for  the  benefit  of  the  community,  and  not  for 
the  profit  of  the  financier;  if  he  could  not  see,  as  she 
saw,  an  industrial  revolution  taking  place  under  their 
very  eyes,  which  is  to  shift  the  emphasis  in  America, 
from  the  capitalist  to  the  producer;  if  for  these  and 
other  reasons  she  thought  Dick's  experiment  more  im- 
portant than  he  did,  at  least  his  love  had  ground  for 
him  new  lenses  through  which  to  see  her.  He  admired 
her  fine  class  loyalty,  he  respected  her  ideas,  and  he 
came  to  have  a  sort  of  protecting  tenderness  for  what 
he  conceived  to  be  her  youthful  over-confidence  in  hu- 
man nature  and  its  ultimate  nobility.  So  the  summer 
days  drifted  them  toward  each  other. 

One  of  the  amusing  developments  of  the  summer  to 
Joan  was  a  queer,  give  and  take  sort  of  friendliness 
that  grew  up  between  Gregory  and  Mrs.  Rafferty.  On 
the  many  occasions  when  he  took  Joan  to  the  shanty  or 
called  for  her  there,  he  acquired  the  habit  of  exchang- 
ing ideas  with  the  Irish  woman.  Her  directness  and 
her  hard  common  sense,  often  expressed  with  her 
native  wit,  entertained  him  very  much. 

As  for  Mrs.  Rafferty,  she  had  respect  for  no  man, 
in  the  servile  use  of  the  word,  and  she  gave  King  Far- 
well  as  good  as  he  gave  her. 

"My  belief  is,  Mrs.  Rafferty,  that  you  undervalue 
men,"  he  remarked,  during  one  of  these  conversations. 


346  THE  THRESHOLD 

"I've  not  much  av  an  opinion  of  'em,"  she  replied. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  man  has  been  runnin'  the  worl-ld  iver  since 
Adam's  fall,  ain't  he?" 

"I  suppose  he  has." 

"Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is,  look  at  ut!" 

"Oh,  come  now,"  he  laughed,  "this  isn't  such  a  bad 
world." 

"Ain't  ut?  Well,  it's  the  worrst  wan  I've  iver  been 
in." 

"And  you  think  it's  all  man's  fault?" 

"He's  runnin'  ut,  ain't  he?" 

"Do  you  think  women  could  run  a  better  one?"  he 
teased  her. 

"I  ain't  braggin',  but  I  doubt  if  they  could  do  worse !" 

"Didn't  Mother  Eve  start  the  trouble?" 

"She  did  not.  She  et  the  apple  off'n  the  tree  av 
wisdom,  loike  the  Sarpent  told  'er  to,  an'  that  would 
a  be'n  the  ind  av  ut,  if  it  ain't  fer  Adam,  buttin'  in,  an' 
gittin'  us  all  into  trouble." 

"You  think  it  was  all  right  for  Eve  to  eat  the  for- 
bidden fruit?" 

"Shure — she  was  strong  an'  she  could  stand  ut.  But 
it  got  Adam  into  an  awful  mess,  an'  men  have  niver 
got  us  out  of  ut  since." 

"What  are  you  two  arguing  now?"  Joan  interrupted 
them. 

"Mrs.  Rafferty  thinks  Eve  was  a  saint!"  laughed 
Gregory. 

"Shure,  I'm  for  wimmen,"  asserted  his  antagonist. 

So,  as  usual,  the  discussion  ended  with  laughter. 
And,  as  usual,  Gregory's  amused  comment  as  they 
drove  home  was : 

"She  is  a  very  clever  old  woman." 


THE  THRESHOLD  347 

"What  do  you  think  she  said  to  me,  after  your  last 
argument?  If  King  Farwell  'ud  a  be'n  wan  av  my 
byes,  with  the  roight  koind  av  bringin'  up,  he'd  a  be'n  a 
roight  smart  fella!" 

Gregory  laughed  immoderately  at  that.  Joan  had 
something  to  attend  to  at  the  factory,  so  they  drove 
up  there.  As  they  came  in  sight  of  it,  they  saw  and 
heard  the  activity.  The  walls  were  almost  ready  for 
the  roof  now.  They  all  hoped  that  Jaxiuary  first 
would  see  the  factory  running.  They  drove  up  to  the 
building  and  Joan  went  in  search  of  the  foreman, 
while  Gregory  sat  in  the  car  and  waited  for  her.  The 
men  who  passed  him  smiled  and  nodded,  some  of  them 
exchanged  a  word  or  two  with  him.  One  of  the  satis- 
factions of  the  new  regime  to  him  was  the  attitude  of 
the  men  toward  him.  They  no  longer  hated  him — he 
was  a  part  of  the  new  order  of  things,  whether  he 
would  or  no. 

He  watched  them  swarming  over  the  place,  he  lifted 
his  eyes  to  where  the  women  and  children  worked  at 
their  share.  They  were  all  brown  from  the  sun  and 
rain.  They  laughed  much,  and  chaffed  each  other. 
Had  Joan  and  Dick  voiced  here  a  new  age?  Was  the 
era  of  personal  profit  to  give  place  to  the  era  of  public 
gain?  Was  co-operation,  political  and  industrial,  to 
be  the  keynote  of  the  future  in  our  country?  Were  we 
standing  on  the  threshold? 

"Dreaming,  Gregory?"  Joan  asked  him,  as  she 
climbed  in  beside  him. 

"I  was,  rather." 

"About  what?" 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you  that  we  are  a  nation  of  indi- 
vidualists, trying  to  make  an  antiquated  theory  of  de- 
mocracy work  ?" 


34&  THE  THRESHOLD 

"Yes.  And  the  friction  of  these  individualists  is 
what  cripples  our  whole  scheme.  Individualism  means 
self-expression  at  the  cost  of  everything.  Capitalists, 
at  the  expense  of  the  producer,  and  vice  versa.  The 
result  is  what  happened  in  Farwell — the  energy  of  the 
whole  community  was  dissipated." 

"You  think  that  if  the  industries  of  the  country  could 
co-operate  with  the  political  and  economic  power,  that 
we  would  get  rid  of  this  friction,  and  be  more  efficient?" 

"Certainly,  don't  you?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  in  such  a  scheme 
of  things?" 

"You  mean  you — the  Individualist?" 

He  nodded. 

"We're  going  to  ask  you  to  believe  that  this  old 
bromide  is  actually  true — that  every  man  has  to  be 
supported  by  his  own  labour  or  that  of  others. 
Wouldn't  you  be  ashamed,  once  you  realize  that,  to  be 
an  idler,  just  because  you  can  buy  support,  without 
work?" 

He  thought  about  that  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"I  suppose  we'll  never  get  anywhere,"  he  mused, 
"until  the  net  power  of  the  community  is  the  total 
power,  developed  by  all  the  individuals." 

"That's  the  man  way  of  saying  it,  dear.  I  say  it 
woman-wise.  The  net  power  of  the  community  is  love 
— for  that  is  the  ultimate  power,  that  makes  men  work 
together  for  common  ends.  Fraternity  is  the  net 
power." 

"I  am  beginning  to  understand  the  miracles  love  can 
work,"  he  said,  turning  to  her.  "You've  taught  me 
that." 

"No  more  than  you've  taught  me." 


THE  THRESHOLD  349 

"Joan!" 

"Why  should  I  wait  any  longer  to  say  'I  love  you/ 
Gregory?"  she  answered  him. 

The  machine  stopped  suddenly. 

"My  dear  love!"  he  said. 

•A  long  time  afterward,  she  said  to  him,  "You  didn't 
let  me  finish  my  sentence." 

"You  didn't  need  to — I  understood  the  rest." 

"Dearest,  do  you?  Do  you  understand  that  if  I 
come  to  live  in  the  Hall  for  ever,  that  my  prayer  of 
thanks  for  your  love — for  my  home — must  be  my 
work?  I  must  go  on  with  it,  Gregory.  It  will  take 
me  away  from  home,  from  you,  often,  sometimes  for 
long  periods  maybe —  Will  you  take  me  in  spite  of 
that,  my  lover?" 

"I'll  take  you  on  your  own  terms,  my  Joan.  I  must 
find  my  work,  too.  I  know  you  could  not  respect  the 
old  Gregory,  because  he  was  a  slacker.  We  must  find 
you  a  new  Gregory." 

"I  could  not  love  a  new  one  more  1" 

"I  cannot  work  with  the  human  end  of  it,  as  you  do 
and  as  Dick  does.  I  don't  love  people  as  you  do.  I 
never  shall,  my  dear.  But  there  are  mental  problems 
in  the  big  adjustments  ahead  where  I  may  find  my  use- 
fulness. Don't  you  believe  that?" 

"Thoroughly.  The  mind,  and  the  heart,  they  are 
part  of  our  net  profit,  Beloved!  We  all  contribute 
what  we  have." 

So  they  faced  their  future,  these  two,  in  mutual  re* 
spect  and  understanding. 

In  September,  the  factory  gained  its  roof,  amidst  loud 
rejoicings.  Dick  went  off  to  take  his  entrance  exami- 
nations, and  Gregory  and  Joan  went  about  in  a  sort  of 


350  THE  THRESHOLD 

daze  of  happiness.  Joan  had  promised  Dick  a  daily 
report  of  progress  at  the  factory,  during  his  week  of 
absence,  and  her  days  were  full  to  the  brim. 

In  due  time  Dick  returned,  and  two  weeks  later  his 
examination  returns  came.  He  had  passed  in  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  subjects  to  admit  him,  with  conditions. 
The  family  celebrated  the  event  with  an  evening  in 
New  York. 

They  went  to  the  restaurant  where  they  had  been 
merry  before. 

"Was  it  in  this  life,  we  came  here?"  Gregory  in- 
quired of  them 

"Yes.  But  before,  our  three  lives  were  all  tied  up 
in  one  blessed  tangle,"  Joan  smiled. 

"We  were  tied  up  then,  too,  all  right.  Only  we 
didn't  know  it,"  Dick  remarked. 

The  next  days  Dick  and  Joan  spent  in  shopping.  He 
was  getting  ready  for  his  autumn  semester,  she  for  her 
wedding,  which  was  to  take  place  at  the  Hall  the  night 
Dick  left  for  college.  They  were  very  gay  over  their 
purchases.  Gregory  sometimes  met  them  at  luncheon, 
and  laughed  at  their  bargains. 

Each  morning  Dick  had  Patsy  on  the  long  distance 
wire,  to  get  a  full  report  on  the  work  in  Farwell. 

"Worse  than  a  mother  absent  from  her  first  born," 
teased  Gregory. 

The  first  perfect  days  of  autumn  came,  and  with 
them  a  period  of  relaxation  and  close  companionship 
for  the  three  of  them.  Dick's  preparations  for  de- 
parture were  all  made,  the  next  three  months  at  the 
factory  planned  out,  the  business  organized.  So  he 
was  at  peace  in  his  mind  about  that. 

From  the  first,  when  Joan  told  him  that  she  loved 
Gregory  and  was  to  marry  him,  Dick  had  achieved  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  351 

perfect  brother  devotion.     He  showed  her  his  affec- 
tion, told  her  of  it,  but  always  as  his  uncle's  wife-to-be. 

The  two  men  had  gotten  onto  a  comfortable  plane 
again,  each  understanding  the  other  better.  Then 
their  common  love  for  Joan  was  a  bond. 

So  they  spent  the  red  and  yellow  autumn  days  in  the 
saddle,  or  touring  the  countryside.  Days  of  comrade- 
ship long  to  be  treasured  in  memory. 

The  wedding  preparations  were  to  be  of  the  simplest. 
First  they  decided  to  ask  nobody  to  the  ceremony  but 
Miss  Earl.  The  day  before  she  telegraphed  a  heart- 
broken message,  because  she  could  not  come. 

"Isn't  there  some  other  woman  you  would  like  to 
have,  dearest?"  Gregory  inquired. 

"Mrs.  Rafferty,"  she  laughed. 

"Why  not?" 

"It  would  hurt  so  many  feelings  in  the  village — " 

"Have  them  all,  if  you  want  to." 

"Gregory — you  don't  mean  it?"  she  cried. 

He  stared  at  her — then  smiled. 

"Dear,  foolish  creature,  do  you  want  them  at  your 
wedding?" 

She  went  to  stand  in  the  circle  of  his  arm. 

"You  see,  Beloved,  they  are  my  family,"  she  ex- 
plained. 

"We'll  have  them,  dear  heart,"  he  said  tenderly. 

So  the  invitations  went  out  to  the  village,  to  the  de- 
light of  Joan  and  Dick  and  the  utter  satisfaction  of  the 
workers.  Not  even  the  smallest  child  sent  regrets. 

Gregory  and  Joan  and  Dick,  with  the  minister, 
stepped  onto  the  terrace,  in  one  of  the  gardens,  bril- 
liant now  with  the  last  flare  of  autumn  flowers,  at  sun- 
set time.  The  whole  village  in  its  best  was  massed 
on  the  terraces  below.  Back  of  them  the  trees  flaunted 


352  THE  THRESHOLD 

their  glory,  like  a  wedding  garment.  Back  of  them  the 
hills,  yellow-brown,  now  rose  to  prick  the  horizon  line, 
tinted  with  the  sun's  late  rays. 

As  they  stepped  up  to  take  their  places  before  the 
clergyman,  Joan's  eyes  swept  the  familiar,  much  loved 
scene,  came  back  to  the  affectionate  faces  lifted  to  them 
from  below,  rested  at  last  on  Gregory's  dear  face,  with 
its  tender  smile.  Her  eyes  and  her  heart  were  full, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

The  celebration  afterwards  was  always  hazy  in 
Joan's  mind.  That  everybody  shook  hands  and  wished 
her  happiness,  she  knew — that  affection  surrounded 
them.  She  had  a  recollection  of  dancing  on  the  lawn, 
and  the  shouts  as  they  filed  off  homeward  in  the  twi- 
light. 

She  remembered  Dick's  coming  to  them  with  his  bag 
in  hand. 

"Well,  Jergens  is  here.  I'm  off.  I  suppose  you  two 
won't  miss  me  much." 

"On  the  contrary,  we  shall  miss  you  all  the  time,  my 
dear,  dear  Dick — "  she  had  said,  bending  his  head  to 
receive  her  kiss. 

"Good  luck,  old  dear,"  he  had  whispered  to  her 
brokenly.  "Good  luck,  Uncle  Greg!"  and  then  he  was 
gone,  and  she  was  alone  with  Gregory,  her  husband. 

Hours  later,  she  wrote  a  little  note  to  Ruth  Earl : 


MY  DEAR- 


This  is  my  wedding  night,  and  I  want  to  send  you  just  a 
line  of  gratitude  for  what  you  have  made  possible  for  me.  You 
began  the  story  of  Joan  Babcock;  now  you  must  begin  tht 
story  of  Joan  Farwell. 

Gregory  is  walking  on  the  terrace  below,  to  finish  a  cigar,  so 
I  have  only  a  moment.  You  said  that  "the  height  of  a  woman's 
service  could  be  measured  by  the  depth  of  her  personal  experi- 


THE  THRESHOLD  3 S3 

ence  and  happiness."     If  that  were  true,  dear  friend,  I  could 
redeem  the  world! 

I  have  no  more  doubts  about  my  loyalty  to  my  work — I  know 
this  way  is  the  right  way — that  I  am  sent  to  do  certain  things, 
which  no  one  else  can  do — that  I  shall  not  depart  until  those 
things  are  accounted  unto  me.  So  my  heart  is  at  peace. 

Good  night,  and  thanks.  God  bless  you  and  bring  you  some 
such  benediction  of  joy  as  I  know  this  night. 

JOAN. 


THE   END 


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Mediator,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Mischief  Maker,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Miss  Gibbie  Gault.    By  Kate  Langley  Bosher. 

Miss  Philura's  Wedding  Gown.   By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley 

Molly  McDonald.  By  Randall  Parrish. 

Money  Master,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Money  Moon.  The.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.    By  C.  N  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Moth,  The.    By  William  Dana  Orcutt. 

Mountain  Girl,  The.    By  Payne  Erskine. 

Mr.  Bintgle.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Mr.  Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mr.  Pratfs  Patients.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Mrs.  Balfame.     By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Mrs.  Red  Pepper.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

My  Demon  Motor  Boat.    By  George  Fitch. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamsom. 

My  Lady  Caprice.    By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

My  Lady  of  Doubt.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  North,    By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the  South.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Ne'er-Do-Well,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Net,  The.    By  Rex  B«ach. 


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New  Clarion.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 
Might  Riders,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum^ 
Night  Watches.    By  W.  W.  Jacobs. 
Nobody.   By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Once  Upon  a  Time.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 
One  Braver  Thing.    By  Richard  Dehan. 
One  Way  Trail,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Otherwise  Phyllis.    By  Meredith  Nicholson.  , 

Pardners.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Parrott  &  Co.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.   By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passionate  Friends,  The.    By  H.  G.  Wells. 

Patrol  of  the  Sun  Dance  Trail,  The.     By  Ralph  Connor. 

Paul  Anthony,  Christian.    By  Hiram  W.  Hayes. 

Perch  of  the  Devil.    By  Gertrude  Atherton. 

Peter  Ruff.   By  £.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

People's  Man,  A.    By  £.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Phillip  Steele.   By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Pidgin  Island.    By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Place  of  Honeymoon,  The.   By  Harold  MacGrath1* 

Plunderer,  The.    By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.    By  Louis  Joseph  Vance. 

Port  of  Adventure,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson^ 

Postmaster,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.   By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke, 

Prairie  Wife,  The.    By  Arthur  Stringer. 

Price  of  Love,  The.   By  Arnold  Bennett. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.    By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Shiners.    By  A.  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Princes  Passes,  The.   By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  N.  Williamson. 

Promise,  The.    By  J.  B.  Hendryx. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.   By  Geo.  B.  McCutcheon. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.     By  B.  M.  Bower, 
Ranching  for  Sylvia.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Real  Man,  The.    By  Francis  Lynde. 
Reason  Why,  The,  By  Elinor.  Glyn, 


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Red  Cross  Girl,  The.    By  Richard  Harding  Davis. 

Red  Mist,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Red  Lane,  The.    By  Holman  Day. 

Red  Mouse.  The.   By  Wm.  Hamilton  Osborne. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Return  of  Tarzan,  The.    By  Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  Night,  The.     By  Thomas  W.  Hanshew. 

Rim  of  the  Desert,  The.    By  Ada  Woodruff  Anderson. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    By  J.  C.  Lincoln. 

Road  to  Providence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Robinetta.   By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    By  Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rogue  by  Compulsion,  A.    By  Victor  Bridges. 

Rose  in  the  Ring,  The.   By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  the  World.    By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess* 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Routledge  Rides  Alone.    By  Will  L.  Comfort. 

St.  Elmo.    (111.  Ed.)    By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Salamander,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 
Scientific  Sprague.    By  Francis  Lynde. 
Second  Violin,  The.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Secret  of  the  Reef,  The.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Secret  History.    By  C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Self-Raised.    (111.)    By  Mrs.  Southworth. 
Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 
Set  in  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 
Seven  Darlings,  The.    By  Gouverneur  Morris. 
Shea  of  the  Irish  Brigade.    By  Randall  Farrish. 
Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.   By  Harold  Bell  Wright, 
Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Sign  at  Six,  The.    By  Stewart  Edw.  White. 
Silver  Horde,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 
Simon  the  Jester.    By  William  J.  Locke. 
Siren  of  the  Snows,  A.    By  Stanley  Shaw. 
Sir  Richard  Calmady.    By  Lucas  Malet. 
Sixty-First  Second,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 
Slim  Princess,  The,    By  George  Ade, 


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Soldier  of  the  Legion,  A.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Somewhere  in  France.    By  Richard  Harding:  Davis. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  in  Prison,  A.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Splendid  Chance,  The.     By  Mary  Hastings  Bradley. 

Spoilers,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Spragge's  Canyon.  By  Horace  Annesley  VachelL 

Still  Jim.    By  Honore  Willsie. 

Story  of  Foss  River  Ranch,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Story  of  Marco,  The.    By  Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Strange  Disappearance,  A.    By  Anna  Katherine  Green. 

Strawberry  Acres.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Streets  of  Ascalon,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Sunshine  Jane.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Susan    Clegg    and    Her    Friend    Mrs.    Lathrop.     By   Anne 

Warner. 
Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A.   By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Taming  of  Zenas  Henry,  The.    By  Sara  Ware  Bassett. 

Tarzan  of  the  Apes.     By  Edgar  R.  Burroughs. 

Taste  of  Apples,  The.    By  Jennette  Lee. 

Tempting  of  Tavernake,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim, 

Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Thankful  Inheritance.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Affair  Next  Door.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's,    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Their  Yesterdays.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

The  Side  of  the  Angels.    By  Basil  King. 

Throwback,  The.    By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

To  M.  L.  Q.;  or,  He  Who  Passed.    By  Anon. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Trail  of  Yesterday,  The.     By  Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Truth  Dexter.     By  Sidney  McCall. 

T.  Tembarom.    By  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett 

Turbulent  Duchess,  The.    By  Percy  J.  Brebner. 


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Twenty-fourth  of  June,  The.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 
Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  Th$.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
Two-Gun  Man,  The.    By  Charles  A.  Seltzer. 

Uncle  William.     By  Jeannette  Lee. 

Under  the  Country  Sky.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Unknown  Mr.  Kent,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

"Unto  Caesar."    By  Baronett  Orczy. 

Up  From  Slavery.    By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The.    By  Hallie  Erminie  Rives. 

Valley  of  Fear,  The.   By  Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Vane  of  the  Timberlands.      By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Vanished  Messenger,  The.    By  E'.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

VashtL    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Village  of  Vagabonds,  A.    By  F.  Berkley  Smith. 

Visioning,  The.     By  Susan  Glaspell. 

Wall  of  Men,  A.    By  Margaret  H.  McCarter. 

Wallingford  in  His  Prime.     By  George  Randolph   Chester 

Wanted — A  Chaperon.     By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Wanted — A   Matchmaker.      By   Paul   Leicester   Ford. 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.     By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way   Home,  The.      By   Basil   King. 

Way  of  an  Eagle,  The.     By  E.   M.  Dell. 

Way  of  a  Man,  The.     By  Emerson  Hough. 

Way  of  the  Strong,  The.      By  Ridgwell   Cullum. 

Way  of  These  Women,  The.    By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Weavers,    The.       By    Gilbert    Parker. 

West  Wind,  The.      By   Cyrus  T.   Brady. 

When  Wilderness   Was   King.      By   Randolph    Parrish, 

Where   the   Trail   Divides.      By  Will   Lillibridge. 

Where   There's   a  Will.      By   Mary   R.   Rinehart. 

White  Sister,  The.     By  Marion  Crawford. 

White  Waterfall,  The.    By  James  Francis  Dwyer. 

Who    Goes   There?      By    Robert    W.    Chambers. 

Wiadow  at  the  White  Cat,  The.  By  Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Whining  the  Wilderness.     By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Witness  for  the  Defense,  The.    By  A,  E.  W.  Mason. 


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